Cat and Mouse
by Gilbert H. Karr
Summary: Captain Kirk's landing party is overdue for check-in with the Enterprise, compelling Spock to cancel his appearance as key note speaker at a conference held by the Vulcan Science Academy. He had another reason for visiting his homeworld, however, and the missed appearance could have dire consequences for the Enterprise. I own nothing. Please R and R. I don't write slash. Thank you!
1. Chapter 1

Montgomery Scott hitched his thumbs in the arms of his uniform jacket, turned on his heel, and back ramrod straight, walked to the other end of the briefing room. A moment later he was back again. It was a confined space, which didn't allow a lot of room for pacing, and he grunted softly each time he reached a wall and had to turn back, but otherwise, he barely seemed to notice. Slouched in his chair at the other end of the room, Dr. Leonard McCoy could hardly stand to watch him. Bone crushing exhaustion was written over every feature of his face and his posture showed evidence of a long haul in sickbay. His piercing blue eyes and his keen doctor's mind missed very little, though, even as tired as he was. If he wasn't mistaken, Mr. Scott had sustained some minor injuries of his own, though he'd probably take the example of the rest of the officers on the ship, and ignore them, at least as long as they were in crisis mode. Still, he wished there was something he could do to ease Scotty's mind.

The ship had taken a pounding during this current mission, both in terms of physical damage to the ship, and also in casualties among the crew. Both Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott had their work cut out for them, putting things back together. Mr. Spock would be leaving by shuttlecraft in less than two hours, for a week-long conference on Vulcan. The Captain had missed his check-in, and there was no way to know whether or not the whole landing party was lost. Scotty had a lot on his plate.

"Well then, Doctair, ye might just as well gae ta bed as sit hair." Dr. McCoy jumped as the big man spoke. At that moment, a light bulb went off in Dr. McCoy's mind. There might be some way to reach the Scotsman after all. And it might just be the same way he reached the Captain, on occasion.

"I'll be right back, Mr. Scott. I want to see you here when I get back. I've something to tell you."

"Is it about Captain Kirk?" he asked, but the doctor had already disappeared through the door, whistling softly to himself as he jogged down the hall. His quarters were closer than sickbay so he would stop by there for what he needed. A moment later, the hydraulic doors sighed closed as he left his quarters and headed back to the briefing room. He set the object he was carrying down on the table when he arrived, and Scott stared a question at him.

"My prescription, Mr. Scott. Come and sit down for a few minutes, drink this, and let me tend to your injuries. Pacing won't make the Captain call any faster."

"I know, but I can't help it. I have to do something."

"And you will when you know what it is you need to do. How bad is it?"

"You were in sickbay when the casualties came in. You don't need me to answer that for you." He paused a moment to take the glass Dr. McCoy handed him, sniffed it, then downed it in one swallow, and said, "Bad. As bad as I've ever seen."

McCoy poured him another glass, and then said, "take off your jacket." Scott looked mildly horrified. "Here, Doctor McCoy?"

"I could drag you down to my office in sickbay and do it there, if you prefer, but I thought you wanted to stay here until you heard from the Captain, since the bridge is secured and repairs are underway. You are bleeding, and I need to see how much. This ship can't afford to lose another commander at the moment."

"Aye," he said, removing his jacket. He stared in disbelief at the scarlet blood stain on the white turtleneck underneath. "Dr. McCoy, how did you know?"

"Your face is losing some of its color. I didn't know. I suspected." Vaporizing the blood, he saw a relatively small but rather deep cut on Mr. Scott's abdomen. McCoy used the protoplaser to close the wound, then put a compression bandage on it to help it heal from the inside first. The doctor quickly checked for any more injuries, and then helped Mr. Scott back into his jacket. Scott secretly hoped he would get a chance to go by his quarters to change before much longer.

Montgomery Scott was buttoning his jacket when the doors swooshed open and Mr. Spock walked in. He immediately took in the situation before him, but he didn't say anything about it, at least not yet. Spock had a way of sneaking those things in just when you thought he wasn't going to say anything about it. That was one of McCoy's long standing complaints with the man.

"Mr. Scott, Doctor," he greeted.

"Spock," they returned in unison.

"Have you received any word from the Captain?"

"No, Spock."

"That rather changes things, then, doesn't it?"

"What d'ye mean, Mr. Spock?"

"While the Captain is missing, I cannot leave this ship. Regulations require that I stay aboard."

"If ye're stayin', I'll be turnin command o'er to ye."

"No, Mr. Scott. The Captain left you in command during a crisis situation. You may not turn command over to anyone, unless circumstances require that your services are needed more elsewhere. Even then, it is tricky. Gentlemen, I will be in my quarters if you need me. I must inform the Vulcan Science Academy that I will be unable to fulfill their invitation to be their keynote speaker at this conference."

With that, the cool, ever-proper Science officer turned on his heel and moved smartly through the doors in the direction of his quarters. The doors to his cabin parted to admit him. Once inside, he placed his travel bag on the foot of his bunk, and sat down at his desk, placing one hand on the other to suppress the tremor that had started there.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **_**Please note: this is a re-published copy of Chapter 2. The method I was using to delineate point of view shifts did not copy to the site, so I posted this again for ease of reading. **_** I don't own anything. No redshirts were harmed in the writing, and this chapter very probably needs help. Constructive comments and suggestions welcome. Please Read and Review. Thank you. **

Chapter 2

There were no shapes, no textures to the jumble of colors spinning around in his head, simply patches of light and dark. He was not even sure there were different colors, or if what he was seeing were just several different hues of the same color. He felt as if he was on one of those playground merry-go-rounds from childhood, which once started spinning, blocks out the whole of the outside world, except for the feel of the hot (and sometimes cold) metal under a person's hand, the pull as he holds on to keep from being swept off by the forces of motion and gravity, and the wind generated by the spin, whipping across him. And of course, the feeling of the spin itself, a feeling of flying.

Awareness is a strange thing for the subconscious mind. In some ways, it is a place of greater awareness, keener observation, better intuition. In other ways, it is a place where one cannot be sure whether the awarenesses he or she experience are born of nature, suggestion, or simply unacknowledged dreams that play out to their natural end. All he knew was that he felt an unexplained horror as he watched the shapes and colors swirl around through his head. There was nothing remotely frightening about it, on the surface, but frightened he was, and fear was an emotion he was unaccustomed to experiencing. To this man, fear was akin to weakness, and weakness was intolerable.

He struggled to find coherence in his thoughts, being sure of only one thing—gender. He was the male of the species, very much a man, and very human. When he tried to find his own identity, he tasted the word, "me", written in bold, black letters atop the mound of spinning colors. He pictured a golden man—golden skin, golden hair, golden uniform. Military? Or civilian? He couldn't be sure. He could find no name within himself to match the image. The spinning seemed to be slowing down now, and at once, he recognized that this was where the fear originated, in finding out what would happen when the spinning stopped.

He was unable to know how long he had been here, wherever here was, in this state. Time did not seem to pass, nor could he accurately judge the passing if it did. Now that he knew the ceased spinning was the cause of his fear, he was determined to make it stop, and see what was there. He concentrated all of his energy on the spin, willing it to stop, and reveal its secrets to him. He heard snatches of sound, if he concentrated hard enough. It wasn't exactly the happy hubbub of a playground, rather it seemed to be a single voice, a feminine voice, sounding from the midst of the chaos. The spinning was getting slower and slower now. Soon it would stop, and he would see who was talking to him. He felt a sharp pain that seemed to radiate throughout his body, and then someone was slapping him, and when he opened his eyes, the image was blurred. He could barely make out the figure of a woman standing over him, and his soul screamed. Whatever it was that was causing his fear, she was at the center of it.

(0o0)

Spock was seated in his quarters, attempting to become engrossed in his research on the recent anomalies the ship had found in some uncharted areas of space, the mapping of which was the Enterprise's current assignment. He was having trouble concentrating on his work. He had immediately sent a message to Starfleet Command upon entering his quarters, and any other night he would not have given it a second thought.

A moment later, he threw his hands over his ears, and stiffened in his chair, as he felt-heard the scream of a tortured soul in his mind. He writhed there for a moment, as if trying to make the sound go away by sheer force of will, and then he collapsed to the floor.

(0o0)

Commander Scott was on the bridge, supervising repairs to the various consoles there—repairs which were best completed at night. He didn't feel like sleeping anyway. The message whistle on Uhura's board sounded, making him jump.

"Sickbay to Captain Scott. McCoy here."

"Aye, Doctair, what is it?"

"Sir, please report to sickbay. I have something to discuss with you, and I'd rather not do it over the channel."

"On m'way, Doctair McCoy."

Scott was surprised when he arrived in sickbay and saw Spock seated in front of McCoy's desk. He seated himself next to the Vulcan, and McCoy said, "Spock, tell Mr. Scott what you just told me."

"I think I know why the Captain missed his check in. I believe he has been abducted by the Romulans."

"What makes ye think so?"

"You know that the Captain is my friend, Mr. Scott. What you might not know is that I have touched his mind, on more than one occasion. When a Vulcan touches the mind of another, a link sometimes remains after the meld is completed. I believe that is why I heard his soul scream. The Captain was—is—in great distress. Just before the image faded, I saw a Romulan woman standing over him. He is greatly weakened and in considerable pain. I reached out along the link to lend him my strength. We must locate him."

"Were you able to help him?"

"Unknown."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Negative. I regret that I was unable to recognize the place he is being held, and he was in no condition to tell me." Spock faltered for a moment, and fought to regain his Vulcan mask. McCoy noticed, and said, "Thank you, Spock. I am logging you on Medical leave for at least this shift. Why not go back to your quarters and rest? You've been through quite an ordeal."

"I am well, Doctor. However, I believe I could benefit from some meditation. I will be in my quarters if you require me." With those words, he turned smartly on his heel and swept out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own anything. No redshirts were harmed in the writing. Constructive comments and suggestions welcome. Please Read, Enjoy and Review. Thank you. **

Chapter 3

Mr. Spock sat staring at the flame in his quarters, trying unsuccessfully to meditate. His thoughts kept returning to the Captain. Spock thought he would know, would feel it through the link, if Jim died, but knowing he lived was both blessing and curse. So long as the Captain lived, there was a chance of rescuing him, but he was also being tortured mercilessly by the Romulans. How long could he hang on? Spock knew the Captain to be a strong minded, resourceful man, one who would not give up his secrets easily. That would, perhaps, make it more painful for him.

The whistle outside his door sounded, announcing a visitor. Pressing the release to unlock the door, Spock said softly, "come". McCoy strode into his quarters and stopped, visibly trying to take on the more subdued nature of his surroundings. When he saw that the Vulcan had turned and was staring at him, waiting for him to say something, he said, "How are you feeling, Spock?"

"I am well, Doctor."

"I had an idea, Mr. Spock, if you are open to it. This must be your choice. It will likely be uncomfortable for you, even painful."

"What is that, Doctor?"

"You mentioned that you could not ascertain where the Captain was being held. I started to wonder if we could use clues from what you saw and heard through the link to try to locate the Captain."

"Interesting. How do you propose to do that, Doctor?"

"I wondered if it would be possible to modify a psycho-tricorder to produce its readings in some type of visual format."

"In theory, yes. It is a matter of developing a visual interface capable of reading the impulses of the brain. The Vulcan Science Academy Hospital uses something of that nature to help victims of forced melds and other crimes identify their assailants, if they cannot remember who attacked them. If you will allow me access to one of your psycho-tricorders, I will attempt to create such modifications. I will require some time."

"I know. I brought one with me. Please let me know when you finish." McCoy turned and moved back toward the door.

"Doctor, before you leave, I believe we have one more issue to discuss. An issue for which we might require the help of one or two of Mr. Scott's engineers. We must look to ensure the escape of whomever goes in after the Captain, in the event the Romulans try to set a trap for us. I recommend some type of portable transponder, which will allow our transporter to achieve a lock, even through heavy shielding, and will enable us to beam both the Captain and his rescuer out together."

"While you modify the tricorder, I will discuss the portable transponder with Mr. Scott, and ask him to have one of his men help us build it."

"Very well, Doctor McCoy. I will let you know when I have finished making adjustments to the tri-corder."

"Thank you, Spock."

(0o0)

Doctor McCoy made his way onto the bridge, with the double intention of checking on Mr. Scott, and also asking for the help of one of his men. But Mr. Scott was not on the bridge, so McCoy left, and opened a channel in the hallway.

"Doctor McCoy to Mr. Scott."

"Scott here. What is it, Doctair?"

"Where are you, sir? I need to speak with you."

"In my office, Doctair."

"Stay there, Mr. Scott. I'll come to you."

McCoy pushed the release to walk into Scott's office, and stopped in the doorway, shocked at what he saw. Scotty looked as though he had been on a drinking binge, but it wasn't like him to drink while on duty. Casually removing a hand held med scanner from his pocket, he pointed it at Scott.

"What happened, Mr. Scott?"

"I couldn't sleep. Too much to do. So I decided to try some whiskey. I only had two glasses, but I feel like I drank every ounce of liquor on the ship."

"Could the whiskey have been contaminated?"

"That was my thought, but I don't see how it would have been."

"I would like to take it back to sickbay and study it to see, if you don't mind, Mr. Scott." McCoy snapped an ampoule of anti-intoxicant onto his hypo, and injected the big engineer with it.

"Certainly, Doctor McCoy. Much obliged. I suppose you have to report this."

"Well, you drank those two glasses last night, correct?" Scott nodded. "You would have been off duty then, so I don't see that you did anything wrong. As a matter of course, I am required to report all treatments in my medical log, but we may be able to skim over it without it attracting too much attention."

"Thank ye, Doctair. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Scotty. Spock and I were talking about how to find the Captain, and he is altering a psycho-tri-corder so that when it takes readings, it will read the brain impulses to create a visual picture of what he saw when he came in contact with the Captain. He pointed out that we must have a way of getting the Captain and whomever rescues him back aboard ship, and that's where we need the help of an Engineer."

"What did ye have in mind, Doctair?"

McCoy told him, and Scott sat there for the next half hour asking questions and making sketches. Finally, he pronounced himself satisfied, and toggled a switch on his computer to open a channel.

"Scott to Engineering." Since he wasn't specifically calling the Engine or Transporter rooms, that would mean he was looking for the Engineering Duty officer. In this case, it happened to be Assistant Chief Engineer Moira Kinsey. A moment later, a pretty woman -with flaming red hair, eyes of a royal blue, and a mischievous smile-appeared on the screen.

"Engineering, Kinsey here."

"Moira, lass, I am sending you some sketches I've made for a new instrument Doctor McCoy needs. Please look them over and let me know when we could expect to see it built."

"Aye, sir."

Scotty signed off and looked at McCoy. "I will call you as soon as she calls me. Now, I am due on the bridge."

"Take it easy as much as you can today, Scotty, and call me if you can't sleep tonight. I can help."

"Aye, Doctair."

(0o0)

McCoy was in the lab, testing the alcohol Scott had been drinking when the call came in. Toggling the switch on his desk to answer it, he said, still looking at the results of the latest batch of tests, "McCoy here."

"Doctor, the tri-corder we discussed earlier is ready for testing. Are you in your office?"

"No, Spock. I am in the Medical lab, performing an experiment."

"I would rather do this experiment in your office, where we can be assured of some privacy."

"Come on down to the office and wait for me. I will be right there, Spock."

McCoy instructed Nurse Chapel, who was helping with the whiskey experiment, to continue the tests, and walked through the lab doors, through sickbay, and into his office. Spock handed him a pair of headphones.

"Put the headphones on, and think about something specific. I must calibrate the program to sickbay computers."

McCoy put the headphones on, feeling a bit silly as he did so, and sat watching Spock work. After a few moments, Spock spoke again. "Now, I am going to turn the screen on, and start the experiment. I want you to picture one of your best days in your mind, in as much detail as you can, and preferably one in which we were both involved. I must check the accuracy of the transfer."

McCoy grumbled under his breath, but he knew that Spock was asking for a good reason, and also that it wouldn't be prudent to let too many people know what they were doing. Spock said, "remember, Doctor, I will be wearing these headphones myself, in a few minutes. Right now, I must be sure they record accurately, and I am the only one who knows how to do that."

"All right, Spock."

He chose a nice, safe memory—of a campout, when the Captain decided to climb El Capitan, and almost fell, and Spock rescued him. He opened his eyes to find Spock staring at him, and felt a bit intimidated by the intensity of the Vulcan's gaze.

"What is it, Spock?"

"Doctor, I have no way of knowing if the inaccuracies in this memory are yours or the machines."

"Vulcans remember things in much greater detail, and much more vividly than even the smartest humans do, Spock. Your emotions don't get in the way." He looked at the screen. "It looks accurate to me."

"We must be sure, Doctor. If it is not accurate now, it will not be so when we seek the Captain in my memories. I must ask—a favor, Doctor." McCoy thought he knew what this favor was, and didn't like where this was going.

"I regret having to ask, Doctor. In many ways, you are as private a person as the Captain, and myself. I believe the Captain is being tortured by the Romulans, and as strong as he is, I am not sure how long he will last. We must help him."

"Please don't say this is logical, Spock."

"It is necessary, Doctor."

"Just do it, then." Spock's long fingers stretched out and found the proper points on the doctor's face. After a few minutes of adjusting the equipment, he let go, and McCoy opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Spock turned off the screen, and reached for the headphones. As he did so, he sank to his knees, and the tremor in his hand started again. He felt behind him for the chair, and sank down into it.

"Spock, what is happening to you?" Spock was straining to get the words out, and held up a hand to halt the doctor's questions. McCoy pulled out his handheld mediscanner, but the results were inconclusive. "Sickbay, Mr. Spock. Now!" With that, he supported the Vulcan down the hall to sickbay.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks to those who are reviewing and letting me hear their wonderful ideas for how this story can improve. Please note: the rating for this chapter changes this story from a K+ rating to a T, for mild sexual innuendo. This chapter makes reference to several episodes from the Original Series. Again, I own nothing from this world, except my original ideas. Please read and review. Thank you. **

Chapter 4

Spock sat in front of McCoy's desk after the episode had passed, waiting to be released from sickbay.

"Level with me, Spock. Is it the Ponn Farr?" Spock stared at Doctor McCoy in shocked surprise, saying nothing. "I know you don't like to talk about it, Spock, but it is about time for it to happen again, isn't it? It has been seven years. And you had planned a trip to Vulcan for this time. It makes sense."

"The Captain led me to believe that he would not speak of that to anyone."

"He didn't, Spock. Jim wouldn't. I found out by accident."

"How is that, Doctor?"

"I read the Vulcan medical journals, too. When I was looking for a way to treat your father, on the way to Babel, I was reading the journal published by the Science Academy, and I ran across an article about experimental treatments to regulate and delay reactions in Vulcans away from home when Pon Farr hits. It listed the symptoms, and I realized they were much like yours. I wrote the author of the study, requesting more information. He was hesitant, at first, but finally logic won out, and he gave me what I asked for. Now, answer my question."

"I must congratulate you on your research and your extrapolation, as well as your discretion. You are correct about the time frame, Doctor, but it has not been seven years yet. The exact anniversary is two weeks from now. Allowing for the fact that biological processes are not always exact, it could be, except for the fact that my symptoms are largely physical at the moment, and in Pon Farr, they are both physical and psychological, usually from the beginning. I believe this is something—different. However, I do not know what it is."

"You should go back to your quarters and rest a while, Mr. Spock."

"Illogical. I am better now. The logical thing to do would be to continue the experiment. Time is of the essence in locating the Captain, Doctor."

"Agreed. So long as you are up to it."

(0o0)

The spinning was slower now, slower and slower, until finally it stopped. He had expected the blocks of color in his head to dissipate when they stopped spinning. But nothing happened. He felt a searing pain as something pierced his shoulder, and someone lightly slapped his face. Opening his eyes, he discovered his vision was blurred. A feminine voice sounded far away.

"How are you feeling? My name is Katrin. What do you remember?" Her scent was driving him crazy.

"What happened?" he wheezed, and thought his voice sounded like he hadn't used it for months.

"The craft you were in crashed onto the surface of our planet. The other men in your party are dead. I'm sorry." He felt that he should know what she was talking about, but he couldn't pull the memory back from wherever it was hiding. "It is almost lunch time. Are you hungry?"

He wasn't, but he hoped some food would help to focus his mind, so he nodded. She helped him sit up, and set a tray in front of him. Then, she moved across the room and sat down to watch him eat. He began to eat slowly, and as he did so, his vision cleared and his memories started to return. He saw a face in his mind—a face with pointed ears and upswept brows. Then he saw the Enterprise. Suddenly he remembered a certain check in.

"I must contact my ship."

"I told you your ship crashed on the planet's surface. Everyone died. I am sorry."

"No, you don't understand. The ship that brought me here was not my ship. Well, it was, in a sense, because it belonged with the other ship. My ship is still up there, orbiting your planet." His mind was still confused, and so the words were not coming out correctly.

Her eyes were sad and her voice solemn when she spoke again. "I hate to tell you this, but we looked for others when you crashed. There is no one else up there. You may try to contact them, and see for yourself, if you wish." He reached for what should have been a pocket, where his communicator was clipped, and when he didn't find it there, he looked down to discover that he was almost completely naked. He blushed.

"No need to be embarrassed, Captain. We are both adults. Your clothes were in shreds and burnt when we pulled you out. We did not have any that would fit you. We will supply them when you have need of them. For now, you should rest." She moved back over to help him back to bed, and as she did so, her scent overwhelmed him again, running any other thoughts right out of his head. What was it she had called him? It was some sort of title, and he felt it had some significance as to who he was and how he got here.

"Come, let me help you back to bed." She smiled at him, and as she spoke, her fingers trailed down his body, her touch setting him on fire. He gasped as he felt his body respond to her touch, and he found concentration difficult. Removing some of the extra pillows with which he had propped himself up moments ago, she pushed him back down into the softness of the bed, and climbed in beside him, tracing small patterns on his chest with her fingernails. There was something he planned to do, something they had discussed, but the harder he tried to remember what it was, the more elusive it became, until her scent and her touch, and the sensations they caused, overwhelmed him, and with a degree of urgency that surprised him, he pulled her down beside him and found her mouth with his. Any other thoughts slipped from his mind as his primal instinct took over, and he met her challenge. He could not say how long they stayed locked together. It might have been minutes, or hours, or days. The encounter was not over when the spinning started again in his mind, and he sank back down into it, mildly disturbed that he had no control over what she might do next, and was no longer aware of what she was doing. He was only aware of a heightened sense of euphoria, which, for the moment, rode high above the inexplicable fear he felt at the spinning.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own anything. No redshirts were harmed in the writing. Constructive comments and suggestions welcome. Please Read, Enjoy and Review. Thank you. **

Mr. Scott felt some better after Dr. McCoy's injection and several hours on the bridge. The main problem now was the exhaustion from last night's lack of sleep. He was sure the doctor would give him a stimulant if he asked, but he was hesitant to do so. That stuff made him loopy, first, and second, he had always prided himself on being self-reliant. His shift would be over soon, and he would get some sleep then.

Uhura turned from her board to face him, two slender fingers holding the earpiece that was in her ear. After a moment, she took it off and said, "Captain, a message coming in from Outpost 3, sir." Outpost 3 was an old Federation Outpost, which was all but abandoned after the very early days of space travel in favor of cheaper, more efficient alternatives. Now, a skeleton crew of ten ran the outpost, which served as an emergency stopover for Federation citizens who needed to get in touch with home, or ships that needed an emergency refuel, or any one of a dozen other small things like that. Scientific expeditions made it a base of operations, if they were not based off of a starship or a science vessel. Sometimes, cadets did training missions to the old outpost. Otherwise, it was just the crew of ten. It was important, if lonely, work.

"Put it onscreen, lass."

"Stand by, sir." A moment later, a face appeared on the bridge's main viewscreen, and seconds after that, the person began speaking.

"Greetings, Lieutenant Commander. I am Commander Orr, and I am in Command of Outpost Three."

"Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, commanding USS Enterprise."

"Commander Scott, we have on our outpost something your ship has lost. Would you care to beam over and discuss it with me? I assure you, it is of great value, but I don't wish to discuss it over the channel."

"Aye. I'm patching ye in to our transporter room. If ye'll give them the coordinates, we'll be right over."

"Commander Scott, this is a matter of extreme sensitivity. Take care in who you bring with you."

"Aye."

He pushed a button to open a channel and said, "Bridge to sickbay."

"Sickbay, McCoy here."

"Doctair, I just received a message from Outpost 3, wanting me to beam over to discuss something important our ship has lost. I'd like for ye to join me. Transporter room, three minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Sighing as he closed the channel, he opened another one. Someone had to be in command while he was gone.

"Bridge to Mr. Spock."

"Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, I have to beam over to Outpost 3. I need you in command while I am gone."

"I regret I cannot. I've been placed on medical leave for the rest of this shift."

The sigh grew deeper this time. He looked ahead of him, to where Sulu was seated at the helm. He hated to call on him, since he would be needed to get the ship out of a mess, if it came to that. He was the most experienced junior officer on the bridge, though.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

(0O0)

Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy sat in Commander Orr's office on Outpost 3. McCoy thought the man looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. Commander Orr shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Scott decided enough was enough.

"Commander Orr, ye said ye had something important to discuss with us. What is it?"

"I don't know how to say this. I have questioned everyone in my crew, and no one can explain how it came to pass. A member of your crew appeared on our Outpost."

"A member of the landing party? Which one?"

"I'll let you see for yourself. He couldn't tell me." With that, he led the two Enterprise men through a set of double doors, and down a hallway, where he stopped in front of another door. "Before we go in, I feel I need to warn you that the person in this room is but a shell of the person he once was. I don't even know him, and I can tell you that."_ Oh no! _thought McCoy. _What if it is Jim? _Swallowing hard, McCoy forced himself to accept the reality of that possibility. The doors slid open, and Scott and McCoy stalked inside to find an emaciated form hunched over with his arms encircling his knees, his chin resting on his arms, and a pained look in his faraway eyes. _There's no way that person is a crewman on the Enterprise _was McCoy's first thought. He curbed that thought as well as he could, not wanting to show it to his patient. Injecting confidence into his voice and bearing, he moved over to the person's side, his tricorder whirring. The man jumped when he heard the sound of the hand held med scanner and he crab walked across the bench he was sitting on, and tried to wedge himself inside the opposite wall.

Speaking softly, as one speaks to a highstrung thoroughbred, McCoy approached carefully, and said, "Take it easy, now, Lieutenant. What happened?"

Realizing he was being grilled by a superior officer, even though it was the doctor, he attempted to straighten up and cringed with pain. McCoy put a hand on his shoulder, cringing inwardly with him.

"I don't remember." As he spoke, McCoy injected the young Lieutenant (who looked like he had aged 30 years in the time the landing party had been gone) with a sedative, and his eyelids immediately fluttered closed. Angrily, Scott turned to Commander Orr.

"There aren't that many ships stopping here. Surely someone would remember the ones that have stopped within the correct timeframe to have left Lieutenant Jefferson."

"That's just it. No one remembers any ship passing through here within the past five solar days. But whoever left him here would have to have had a rough idea of when you would be passing through here."

"Agreed. As of right now, I am placing this Outpost on lockdown procedures, no one on or off without an armed escort from the Enterprise, under regulation 297-3b. We'll see if your story holds up under Starfleet scrutiny. "

Commander Orr stiffened. "You can't. I outrank you."

"Wrong, sir. As Acting Captain of the USS Enterprise, I have the same powers as her regular captain. I can even convene a court martial for you or any of your men who choose to interfere with my men during their investigation or any part of the execution of their duties here. We can make this as easy as possible, and I can allow your men to stay put, or you can make the choice not to cooperate with me, and I can evacuate your entire crew to the Enterprise holding cells until I get the answers I seek. I will leave that up to you." Commander Orr was not happy. All of the bravado he had previously shown disappeared and he deflated like an old balloon. He shrugged and grimaced. "Do what you have to do."

"Thank you, sir. I will be in touch."

Scott shared a warning glance with McCoy, who responded by opening his communicator and saying, "McCoy to Enterprise. I need a medical team standing by in the transporter room. Three to beam up."

The reply was almost instantaneous, and soon the familiar yellow sparkles and tingling feeling surrounded them. A moment later, they were appearing on the transporter pads. When they had finished materializing, McCoy reached out and grasped Scotty's uniform as he started to step off the pad. "Sickbay," he hissed, out the side of his mouth.

"I'm due on the bridge, Doctair."

"Sulu can handle it a little longer. We need to talk about this, and I think we need Spock." That sounded reasonable to Scott, so he stepped off the pad and looked at the man running the transporter.

"Thank ye, lad. I'll be in sickbay with Doctair McCoy if anyone needs me."

"Yes, sir." McCoy began barking orders to the medical team waiting for them. With their help, he laid Lieutenant Jefferson out on a gurney, strapped him down so he wouldn't fall off, and they practically ran down the hall to sickbay.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Here's the sixth chapter, and I am facing a quandary. Do I continue writing new chapters, or go back and repost the revised chapters up to this point? Thanks to those who have read and those who have given such good advice and constructive comments. I take writing seriously and the time you take to read and review is greatly appreciated, as it will help me improve my craft. Enjoy. By the way, I don't own Star Trek, nor do I make money off of this. **

Chapter 6

The spinning was slower now, slower and slower, until finally it stopped. He had expected the blocks of color in his head to dissipate when they stopped spinning. But nothing happened. He felt a searing pain as something pierced his shoulder, and someone lightly slapped his face. Opening his eyes, he discovered his vision was blurred. A feminine voice sounded far away.

"How are you feeling? My name is Katrin. What do you remember?" Her scent was driving him crazy.

"What happened?" he wheezed, and thought his voice sounded like he hadn't used it for months.

"The craft you were in crashed onto the surface of our planet. The other men in your party are dead. I'm sorry." He felt that he should know what she was talking about, even that they had talked about it before, but he couldn't pull the memory back from wherever it was hiding. "It is almost lunch time. Are you hungry?"

He wasn't, but he hoped some food would help to focus his mind, so he nodded. She helped him sit up, and set a tray in front of him. Then, she moved across the room and sat down to watch him eat. He began to eat slowly, and as he did so, his vision cleared and his memories started to return. He saw a face in his mind—a face with pointed ears and upswept brows. Though he showed nothing outwardly, he focused on that face in his mind with all his might, and felt he should know the man. _Spock._ The word sprang unbidden to his mind, and with it came a deluge of thoughts and feelings, jumbled together, boiling toward the surface. At the last possible moment, he clamped down on them ruthlessly, sensing his companion would be able to read them there. He was careful to eat at regular intervals, so that she didn't become suspicious, while all the while focusing on the thoughts inside him rather than the food. In the instant of understanding that hit him when he saw Spock's face, he realized that he should know if Spock was dead. He focused on throwing the link they shared wide open, so that Spock could see what was happening to him. It might be his only hope.

"Captain, are you almost finished?" Katrin asked sweetly, moving close to him again. He fought not to be distracted by her.

"Why?" he asked, smiling. "Am I taking too long?"

"I am in the mood to have a little fun, to do something new" she answered.

"Something new?" he asked, hating that the anticipation in his voice was only partially fake. "What would that be?"

Spider-walking her fingers down the side of his chest, she said, "I want to play a little game." His head started spinning slowly again, and he tried to force it to stop, but it seemed the spinning started when she touched him. Lightly kissing him, she said, "When you get back to your ship, you will not remember what has happened to you here. You will not even remember being here. Nor will you remember me." With just the tips of her fingernails, she traced a perfect pattern around his ear, and he reached out to her again with some urgency. With one hand, she pushed him away, while she continued the rhythmic tracing with the other. "You will remember only the catchphrase I am about to give you, and when you hear it, you will do what I tell you now to do." The spinning intensified again, and she continued stroking him, moving down his body, sometimes playfully pinching or nipping, sometimes massaging stiff muscles that were as taut as bowstrings in his body's semiconscious was between fighting her and giving in to her. "The new sun rises." He was starting to move toward climax, and it didn't fit within her plan to have him peak too soon. When the muscles she was working finally relaxed, she leaned over and whispered something into his ear, and then she kissed him hard. She allowed him to pull her over on top of him, and their bodies began moving together in rhythm. She stopped for a moment, straddling him, and looked at him with some small measure of pity before she said, "Captain, of all the men in your party, you have proven the most fun, and the greatest challenge. I regret I had to kill your men, but I did that for my people. I must give them their chance. Even more than that, I regret that I cannot extend to you the same courtesy and pleasure I extended to them." She began stroking his hair. "Rest assured, your men died happy, Captain. My sisters and I made sure of that." There was no indication that he heard her. The spinning in his head was faster than it had ever been before now, so fast that it was almost painful.

(0o0)

Spock was seated in sickbay, wearing the headphones he had created, and Dr. McCoy was helping him sort through the memories in his mind of his conversation with the Captain. They were finding few clues, though.

"Spock, are you sure this is the way you saw it?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Well, is there something we are missing?"

"Undoubtedly, Doctor. I am at a loss to understand what it is, however." Spock was looking at McCoy, when he suddenly saw the Captain sitting up in bed, eating, while the woman he had seen in the last one sat to one side, watching him eat. Spock watched with some fascination, as she made him comfortable, and then crawled into bed beside him. The scene changed, and the screen was filled with blocks of color that started slowly spinning around and around. They watched as the spinning grew faster and faster, and the noises were layered and hard to discern. McCoy glanced at Spock, and saw that while he was fascinated at what they saw, he had idea what was happening either.

"What's going on, Spock?"

"It appears the Captain remembered our link, and has opened it to try to help us locate him."

"Why now?"

"Unknown, Doctor."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mr. Scott and Mr. Spock were standing in Dr. McCoy's office, and the atmosphere in the room was quite tense. Spock had contacted the admiralty to inform them of the facts that the landing party was missing, including Captain Kirk, and also that he had declared the equivalent of martial law on Outpost 3, pending the completion of the Enterprise's investigation.

Anyone who knew Spock would see that he was becoming fully frustrated with the conversation, though he was hiding that frustration well, for the moment.

"Admiral, I cannot take command of the Enterprise from Mr. Scott. The Captain left him in command of this vessel, during a crisis situation, and according to regulations, he cannot relinquish command during a situation of such import unless he is relieved by the Chief Medical Officer or by the Captain himself. Regulations recognize no other authority in such a situation, Admiral."

"Captain Kirk left him in command when he thought you would be off ship, Commander."

"I regret, sir, that the regulations recognize no exceptions in the Captain's orders. Mr. Scott is fully capable of commanding this ship, and even if I could, I would resist taking command from him for two reasons. One, I know he can command this ship as well as either myself or the Captain could under present circumstances, and I would not have him think I thought otherwise. Two, Captain Kirk would not have placed him in command if he had not been sure he could handle that command. I have great faith in the Captain's judgment, and would not willingly countermand his orders."

"All right, Mr. Spock. About the Captain, how goes the search for him?"

"It is proceeding as well as can be expected with no data on where to look, Admiral."

"Have you turned up anything on Outpost 3?"

"Not presently. However, we plan to question the crew on the Outpost this afternoon. I believe someone must have seen something, and to that end, I respectfully request permission to do whatever is necessary to obtain the truth of this situation."

The Admiral sat back in his chair, not sure he wanted to know what Spock had planned, or what he meant when he asked to "do whatever is necessary". Mr. Spock was the best First Officer in the fleet, and since he was also a Vulcan, the Admiral knew Spock wouldn't lie if he were asked what he meant. But, Spock was also one of the gentlest beings in the universe until he was threatened, and he was very loyal to his Captain, which assured the Admiral that he would not stop until he learned the truth.

McCoy sat behind his desk, and had been silent the whole time they were discussing this, which was totally out of character for him. "What do you think, Dr. McCoy?" the Admiral asked.

"What it all boils down to, Admiral, is whether you trust these men or not."

"Do you? Your quarrels with Mr. Spock are rumored throughout the galaxy."  
McCoy looked uncomfortable. "I will admit that Commander Spock and I have our differences. We are two strong personalities on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to philosophy, but I would trust him with my life, sir, and I have, as he has trusted me with his."

The Admiral was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, he said, "We are all bound by the regulations, Commander, but so long as you work within them, you have carte blanche to do whatever is necessary to locate and return Captain Kirk to the Enterprise, and to find the perpetrators of this act, and bring them to justice. The other members of the landing party are included in that, too, of course."

"Thank you, Admiral. Spock out." He cut the connection, and turned to Doctor McCoy.

"And thank you, Doctor." McCoy nodded once and then turned away, not ready to discuss what had just happened with either of the men in the room. The other two men prepared to take their leave. A moment later, an alarm claxon raucous noise echoed through the room, then stopped as quickly as it had started. Mr. Scott and Spock exchanged glances.

"Was that what I think it was?" McCoy asked quietly.

"It sounded like an intruder alert, but why did it cut off so suddenly?" Scott said.

A moment later, their question was answered when a whistle on the communications station sounded.

"Transporter room to Captain Scott."

"Scott here," he answered. "Was that an intruder alert?"

"Yes, sir." Here he hesitated, not sure how much he should say. "Well, who is it, Laddie?"

"I think you should see this for yourself, sir."

"On m' way." Turning to the other two, he said, "Doctor, Commander, you are both with me."

They raced down to the transporter room. When the doors slid open, McCoy gasped and fairly ran across the room. Jim Kirk was lying face down on the floor where he had fallen off of the transporter pads. He was thin, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks, though he had been gone for only a few days. He was pale and feverish, his skin boiling hot to the touch. The pulse in his wrist raced under McCoy's thumb and first two fingers. When the doctor turned his Captain over, he gasped again. Kirk's face was black and blue, and his eyes were sunken, like he had been beaten soundly. Suddenly, Kirk's eyes snapped open, but the parts of his eyes that were visible through the swelling were unfocused and far away. When McCoy tried to help him up, there was a sag to his countenance that had never existed before, even in the most trying times the Enterprise had faced. McCoy pointed the medical scanner toward his Captain, and Kirk's reaction was much like Jefferson's had been. The Captain jumped and managed to move about three feet sideways before he collapsed again. McCoy exchanged glances with Spock, and his voice was tightly controlled with as deep an accent as Scott had ever heard in it, when he said, "Spock, clear the halls and call for a medical team. Ah need to get 'im to sickbay, now."

Spock did not even wait for McCoy to finish before he carried out the medical order. Quickly moving up to help support Kirk on the other side, he said, "What is his status, Doctor?"

"Ah don't know, Spock, and probably won't till I get 'im where I can look at him proper. Ah'll let you know."

"I will be on the bridge with Mr. Scott. Inform me immediately of any change in the Captain's condition."

"Ah will, Spock."

McCoy's orderlies pushed an antigrav stretcher through the doorway at that time, and McCoy began barking orders to them. "Get 'im up there quick. S'port his head. Strap 'im down so he dudn' fall off. Don't spare the horses."

The hallways were almost eerily clear by the time they left the transporter room, and true to his orders, the medical team sprinted for sickbay.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: New chapter is finally here—my apologies for the wait. I own nothing of Star Trek, except my original worlds and characters, and make nothing off of this. Thank you to all of those who are reading and following this story, and for sticking with me even though this chapter has taken a bit longer than planned to come out. A very special thank you to all of those who have chosen to review this story. So, please keep them coming. Most of all, enjoy. Thank you!**

Chapter 8

_Ship's log, stardate 41311.8, Commander Scott, reporting: Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Johnson remain under the care of the medical staff in sickbay. The Enterprise continues to orbit Outpost 3, pending the results of ship security's investigation as to how Lieutenant Johnson came to be there without the notice of Outpost personnel. Mister Spock and his landing party are presently on the Outpost, questioning personnel as part of that investigation. The search continues for the two remaining members of the landing party. I have used my status as Acting Captain of the Enterprise to place the Outpost under Martial law, to ensure their cooperation with our investigation, but with no knowledge of where to look, I don't know how we will recover the remainder of the landing party. I am hopeful that Captain Kirk, when he is well enough, will be able to help us solve this quandary. _

Scott, not wanting to give voice to his uncertainties in the presence of the bridge crew, recorded his log in his office. He flipped the switch to end the recording, and sat back, kneading a tired shoulder as he did so. He was pouring himself a cup of coffee when the chime outside his door rang. He pressed the release to open it, and smiled as his Assistant Chief Engineer slipped inside. She was carrying a small box with her.

"Scotty, I have the medical instrument you asked me to build for Doctor McCoy. I don't know what you all intend to use it for, but I wanted to ask if it was too large?"

"Well, et is large for its purpose, but it is as small as we can make it, I think. How many did ye build?"

"Four, as you requested, plus the prototype, which is the one you are holding."

"Thank ye, Moira. How are ye holdin' up?"

"Everyone in Engineering has been very supportive of me, but I am tired. It has been a feat taking care of my duties and yours."

"Ye must learn to delegate. Split yers up between two or three of the crew, and concentrate on mine. Better yet, forget my duties and go to yer quarters. Sleep a while. The Cap'n is back aship, and I'm sure he'll be wantin to take his command back before long. G'nigh', Lass."

(0o0)

McCoy had the Captain strapped to a biobed, assessing his injuries. Kirk slept the deep, hard sleep of exhaustion, but it was more than that. Watching him jerk periodically, McCoy got the feeling that even in sleep, Kirk was fighting something, and not just fighting, but fighting for his very being. Gently, McCoy undressed him and examined his injuries. None would require surgery, thank goodness, but several would cause some lingering pain and require a longer recovery time than the Captain would be happy with. Sighing deeply, he picked up his protoplaser and got to work, sealing cuts and repairing broken ribs. He rubbed salve on bumps and bruises, knowing it was better to do what he was doing while the Captain slept, because if he woke, McCoy would not get to do it at all. When he finished, McCoy wrapped the Captain's chest and with the help of one of his orderlies, dressed Kirk in a pair of hospital coveralls. Kirk would not like that, either, but in this case, McCoy felt compelled to make him as comfortable as possible. The Doctor poured himself a brandy, and sank down in a chair he had pulled next to his Captain's bed, settling in for a long vigil. His shift was over hours ago, but his medical staff understood that he would treat the Captain himself, so they left them both alone, making themselves available to help if they were needed, but generally staying well away.

McCoy was dozing in his chair, a special kind of dozing reserved for medical doctors, in which his body was, by all counts, asleep, but his mind was fully aware of what was happening around him. As far as he knew, he was floating in a sea of gray, and while he would not be able to get up and move around in this state (he wasn't really even aware of his body), he heard the door open and understood that someone was coming in. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes.

"Mister Scott," he said, quietly, moving to cover Captain Kirk with a blanket to ward off shock.

"Doctair, how's the Capt'n?"

"We will just have to wait and see, Mister Scott." Scotty winced as McCoy turned an appraising eye on him. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Scotty?" He hurried to change the subject.

"I have the instrument you requested. It has been tested and has checked out well." Scott handed the box to McCoy, who opened it and withdrew one of the objects inside.

"Good." He looked it over, and then walked into his office, opening a drawer and removing the hypo he wanted. Scott suddenly understood what the doctor was planning and why it was necessary. This particular hypo could be fitted with a needle for the few occasions in which they were needed these days. He chose the largest hollow needle he had, and fitted it in its proper place, and slid the object in his hand inside it. When he changed the setting, it disappeared inside the nozzle of the hypo. The hydraulic properties of the spray would lend force, making the injection as quick and painless as possible. Scotty doubted this one would be painless, no matter how quick it was, and suppressing a mild shudder, he suddenly hoped Kirk would sleep through it. At any rate, he did not wish to be present for what was to come.

He stifled a yawn, for though it was only early afternoon on the Outpost, it was late into ship's night. Most of Alpha and Beta shifts were already in bed, but he wouldn't retire until the landing party returned, which should be any time now. These were the hardest missions for the crew of any starship—the ones that required crew members to be awake and functioning for all the waking hours of two distinct bodies governed by different suns, or in this case, by two artificial light sources. A Federation outpost and a Federation starship should, theoretically, be on the same Standard time, but in practice it was almost impossible for engineers to keep it that way, since any interruption in power for either body made it so easy to lose track of that time, and difficult to find the proper schedule again. It had been a long day.

Doctor McCoy began moving toward the room in which the Captain rested, and Scott moved on past him to the outer door of sickbay. "Get some sleep, Mister Scott," the doctor said loudly, but he doubted Scott heard him, as he was already out the door and moving down the hall. McCoy made a mental note to check on him later. Lifting the Captain's blanket, he held the hypospray at an angle to the Captain's thigh and released it.

Two hazel eyes opened wide in response to the pain, but McCoy was disappointed to see they were still devoid of purpose, unfocused, giving no indication that the Captain knew where he was or how he had gotten there. Then, he gave in to the exhaustion, and his eyes slowly closed again. That worried McCoy more than all of the rest of it put together because the Captain was a force of nature and in the past, it hadn't mattered how sick or injured he was, the spark that made him uniquely James T. Kirk always shone through the pain and this man fought tooth and nail against any type of incapacitation. Always. Except tonight.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I am really enjoying writing this story, and hope you are enjoying reading it. Having a bit of trouble getting Scotty to sound right, though I've heard the brogue all my life. Any help on that part that anyone might have to offer is greatly appreciated. I intend to keep trying. Thanks to everyone for reading, and a special thank you to those who have reviewed. Reviews really make my day, so please keep them coming. I own nothing except originals and make no profit. Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers, and I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 9

Lieutenant Commander Giotto, the Enterprise Security Chief, had spent hours on the Outpost, and had gotten nowhere with the investigation. He suspected that someone knew something, but no one was talking. He was angry enough to send the lot of them to the Enterprise's brig until he got some answers. In an effort to refrain from venting his frustration with a phaser against Federation citizens, he walked outside to find Spock inspecting a statue like object in what passed for their town square. Spock straightened as Giotto reached his side, and said, "Report, Mister Giotto."

"There's nothing to report, sir. They refuse to help us."

"Are they refusing to answer questions or hindering the investigation in any way?"

"No, they answer the questions we ask, I just get the feeling that we are not asking the right questions, or else they are simply making up the answers as they go along. I can't prove that they are physically obstructing the investigation, but there has to be some clue to what happened here somewhere. We just have to find it."

"Do you feel that they are stopping you from finding it?"

"I truly don't know, sir. That's my feeling, but I couldn't explain why I feel that way. They just act like this is all one big game to them, and that frustrates me."

"Gather the entire complement of Outpost personnel together right here. I wish to address them."

"Yes, sir."

Giotto left to do as he had been commanded, and when he returned, he was shocked at the change in Spock. Giotto had been on the Enterprise long enough to know that there were many facets to Spock's personality, and that he was a very complex man. One of the gentlest men in the galaxy, and a pacifist, Spock was borne of a violent race and capable of killing with his bare hands; he was a being ruled by logic, yet capable of emotions he felt compelled to deny. He knew that other Vulcans considered Spock less than they, because he was half human, yet to Giotto and those others in the crew who really knew Spock, that made him more, not less.

He had seen Spock stern before, but this was different. All traces of civility and culture were gone, replaced by cold menace. His eyes burned and he seemed even taller and more imposing than usual. Giotto found him almost evil. Spock's transformation apparently had the intended effect on the crew of the Outpost. They shuffled their feet nervously, eyes downcast, and no one dared speak amongst themselves.

"Gentlemen," he rumbled, and the crew shrank into themselves. "For those of you who might not know, our mission here is to discover who left Lieutenant Johnson on this Outpost, and which ship it was who transported the Lieutenant here, after abducting him from the surface of Beta Careni, along with the rest of the landing party with him, some four members of the crew in total." He paused for a moment, making eye contact with each of the men and women lined up before him. "One of you saw something. I would advise that person to come forward immediately. Captain Scott has ordered you all removed to the Enterprise holding cells until our mission is finished, if you obstruct our investigation in any way. I have no compunction with detaining all of you. What the Captain failed to mention is that I will personally be in charge of interrogations, and let me assure you, Vulcans have ways of getting the information they seek. Those ways are highly unpleasant and often painful for human beings, not to mention sometimes fatal." Again he paused, and there was complete silence. Giotto looked at Spock in shocked surprise, having never heard him speak this way to anyone before. Spock finished his speech with one final appeal. "If you are the person who has the information we seek, you will do yourselves and your colleagues a great service by coming forward now." No one dared move so much as a finger for fear of being mistaken for the one with information, and subjected to those highly unpleasant and perhaps fatal means of Vulcan truth gathering. They stood deathly still and silent for a long moment, until finally Spock took out his communicator, and called the Enterprise.

"Enterprise, Scott here."

"Captain. I regret to inform you that the crew of the Outpost refuses to aid our investigation. As we discussed earlier, I am having them beamed to the holding cells pending my interrogation." Scott's voice betrayed but a touch of his bewildered amusement when he said, "Aye. Understood, Mister Spock. When will the landing party be returning?"

"Immediately after the Outpost crew is transported to the brig."

"I will meet ye in the transporter room. Stand by for beam up of Outpost personnel." A moment later, six of them were gone in a shower of yellow sparks. The other four disappeared a few seconds later. Mister Scott's voice sounded over the communicator again. "Outpost personnel beamed directly to brig and placed under guard, awaiting your interrogation. Prepare to beam up."

"Acknowledged."

The familiar whistling sound started and the yellow sparks rose up, covering them all as the Outpost faded around them, and seconds later, the Enterprise transporter room came into focus. Spock dismissed the landing party to their quarters out of respect for the lateness of the hour, and scheduled a debrief for the next day. Giotto was amazed that he was back to the Spock they all knew, as though none of what had transpired on the Outpost had even happened. When they were alone, Scott asked, "Do you plan to interrogate the prisoners now, or can you spare a few minutes?"

"Actually, I plan to allow them to agonize over my interrogation until tomorrow. I believe the correct human term is 'let them sweat'. How is the Captain?"

"Still not conscious. Doctair McCoy is warried aboot him, I ken." Spock could tell by the depth of the Scotsman's brogue that he, too, was worried about Captain Kirk. Spock resolved to stop by sickbay on the way to his quarters. "I believe you wanted something of me, Mister Scott."

"Just tae advise ye tae be careful. Sae fair, Starfleet Command is going aloong with me on what I am doing an tha Outpost, but me authority tae do et ees nae beyoond question."

"Noted and logged, Mister Scott. I am going to sickbay, and then retiring to my quarters. Perhaps, you too will now find time to rest."

"Thank ye Mistair Spock, perhaps I will."

(0o0)

McCoy was in his office, looking at the test results from the experiments on Mister Scott's whiskey bottle, which Christine Chapel had left on his desk. He had his feet propped up on his desk, reclining back in his chair, with his own glass of bourbon within easy reach. Reading silently for a few minutes, he soon sat up in alarm, and activated a switch on his comm panel.

"McCoy to Mister Scott."

"Scott here," came the instant reply.

"Mister Scott, could you come down to sickbay?"

Hearing the carefully controlled alarm in the doctor's voice, Scott wondered what had happened, and agreed to go. A few moments later, he was striding through the door to McCoy's inner sanctum, and taking a seat across from him, in front of his desk, at the doctor's request. McCoy rose and moved around his desk, med scanner in hand. He assessed the Acting Captain's condition, and said,

"How are you feeling, Captain?"

"Doon't call mae tha with the Cap'n in tha next room. Et isna right."

"All right, Commander. Answer my question."

"I am faine, Doctair."

"Where did you get the whiskey you drank the night it made you sick?"

" I doon't remember. I have had et fair a verra long time."

"Was that the first time you drank from that particular bottle."

"Noo. Et was aboot half full."

"And when you drank from it before, you suffered no ill effects?"

"Noo, Doctair. Nary a one. Wha es this aboot?"

"We just finished testing the whiskey you gave us, Scott. It was poisoned. With a low grade alkaline poison. There wasn't enough in the bottle to kill you, or do any serious damage, but it was intended to make you sick, and since it happened so recently, I have to think we should consider the possibility that your poisoning and the Captain's abduction are connected."

"You think someone is gunning for the ship?"

"Well, either that, or gunning for certain officers on the ship. We'll check into the possibilities tomorrow. In the meantime, take two of these pills twice a day for ten days, to be sure the poison is completely out of your system. You should start feeling better fairly quickly, as the pills flush the poison out. If you aren't feeling like the old Scotty by 0900 hours day after tomorrow, I want you back here."

"Thank ye, Doctair."

Mister Scott had turned to leave and was almost to the door, when a shrill, blood curdling scream sounded from an outer area of sickbay. McCoy's office was designed to be soundproof, so it was hard to pinpoint where the noise came from until the two men reached the examination area, and then it was clear that the sound came from Captain Kirk's private room. A moment later, the noise stopped abruptly, as though someone had drawn a silencing blanket over it to smother the sound. Scott and McCoy dashed inside, to find Spock cradling the Captain's head. Kirk was shaking from head to toe, and making small sounds of distress, but had apparently instinctively stopped screaming when Spock touched him.

"Mister Spock, what happened here?" McCoy asked, quietly, med scanner out and taking readings of the Captain's condition. As he had finally stopped shaking, Spock lowered the Captain back onto the bio bed, and spoke in little more than a whisper.

"I believe he is still unconscious, Doctor. You would probably call what just happened a nightmare, and that's as accurate a description as any, though I think it was somewhat more than that. Perhaps we could speak in your office."

"Just a moment, Spock." The Captain had, upon being lowered back to the bed, instinctively reached for Spock's hand, and now was holding it with an iron grip, as though that hand was his very lifeline. McCoy gave the Captain a mild sedative, and as his body relaxed, the grip loosened, and Kirk's hand dropped back down to hang slightly off the side of the bed. Spock gathered it up and placed it gently by his Captain's side, and then rose and accompanied the doctor and Scott to McCoy's office. When they were seated around McCoy's desk, Spock spoke.

"When I touched the Captain, I saw the same blocks of color that we saw when I was privy to the Captain's mind through the link he opened to me. They were spinning, but he was fighting to stop the spinning, and at the same time, deathly afraid of what would happen when the spinning stopped. As the spinning slowed, under the other sounds, I heard a woman's voice."

"The Romulan woman we saw with him?"

"Unknown. I would suspect so."

"Did you meld with him?"

"No, Doctor. In his condition, he cannot give consent."

"He stopped screaming when you touched him. I just assumed that was because you touched his mind, comforted him."

"I suspect he stopped screaming because he knew me. Not consciously, of course, but somewhere in his subconscious mind, the identity pattern I was projecting was familiar to him. His mind read it as safety."

"I see. What do you recommend we do for him?"

"I would like to touch the surface of his mind, and try to reassure him. He may be calmer when he wakes if I do so. I had begun the process before you came in, but there wasn't time to finish."

"I am sorry for the interruption, Spock, but we were understandably worried."

"Necessary, Doctor. You must understand what is happening inside his mind to treat him. Please remain here for precisely ten point four standard minutes. If I am successful, he will be sleeping peacefully when you check on him. You must allow him to sleep until he wakes up naturally. Tomorrow is soon enough to devise a treatment plan."

McCoy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Spock disappeared. McCoy sipped his bourbon and looked at Scott. "I would offer you bourbon, but it is better that you don't drink while this poison is still in your system. Apparently, alcohol is the catalyst for this type of poison."

Scott nodded. He would heed the warning in lieu of again feeling like the poison had made him feel. When they checked on the Captain ten minutes later, as Spock requested, he was sound asleep, snoring gently, and Spock was nowhere to be found. The two parted company, feeling better than they had during the entire mission so far.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Outpost personnel had sat in the brig overnight and most of the morning, and they were beginning to wonder when they might see daylight again. Commander Orr had tested the electromagnetic field that sealed the door early on, and found it formidable. He did not wish to test the two guards posted outside of each of the cells, for fear he might get shot. Of all of his staff, Orr was worried about one man and one woman. They were relatively new to the Outpost, a husband and wife team who gave up starship postings in order to be guaranteed the chance to serve together. At this moment, they were seated together over in the corner, whispering between themselves and glancing in his direction. He might as well stop this fight before it got started. Orr rose and walked in their direction.

"Ensign Ruggiero."

"Commander," he fairly spat the word, as though it was distasteful to him.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, there's no problem. We're locked in a brig on a Federation starship, headed who knows where, to stand trial for who knows what. Besides that, there's a crazed Vulcan who has no compunction about killing us to get the information they need to locate their crew. No, no problem at all." Ruggiero's tone dripped sarcasm.

"So far, they've found nothing. If they had found something, they would be down here faster than you can say "lickety split". If you play it cool, and don't give them any information, they can't charge us with anything. They have no proof."

"Listen, Commander, I have no clue what kind of game you are playing with these people, or what kind of deal you have with their abductors, but my husband and I want no part of it." He froze, and Lieutenant Junior Grade, Anna Rugierro knew she had come close to the truth. While she was talking to Commander Orr, her husband Brian walked to the door of the cell and called to one of the guards. Ensign Henderson walked to the door.

"I wish to speak to the Captain of this ship. I have information about what happened on the Outpost, but I will only speak to the Capt—" At that moment, most of the rest of his cell mates attacked Ruggiero from behind, and Commander Orr held his wife, while one or two others kicked and punched her. Henderson called for help, and he and Lieutenant J. G. Edmund Taylor drew their phasers and cut off the electromagnetic field that secured their prisoners. They swept the cell with their phasers, stunning everyone inside. When everyone was stunned, they pulled the couple out of the cell, and turned the field back on. He made a note to himself to call sickbay later and let them know that their prisoners would be suffering the after effects of heavy phaser stun. Ensign Ruggiero started coming around almost immediately. He was underneath a pile of other people when they were stunned, and therefore only got the residual effects of it. Grimacing with the signature stun headache, he closed his eyes briefly and then said, "I will only speak to the Captain about what I know. I don't want the Vulcan anywhere near me or my wife." He looked down at his wife, then back up at the two guards. "What happened to her?"

"Unfortunately, we had to stun her to stun the man holding her. She should come around in a few moments."

"I need to tell you, when she went through the stun test at the Academy, she woke up hard, and almost stopped breathing, as though she was allergic to phaser stun. Doc never found an allergy, though, so we aren't sure if it was an isolated incident brought on because she was slightly under the weather when it happened, or if it might be a more regular occurrence for which there is no explanation except her unique chemistry." Every cadet going through the Academy had to be stunned, so they would know and understand the effects of the weapon they were using on others. Usually, stunning someone did them no physical harm except for temporary paralysis, and waking up to the effects of after stun was one hundred times worse than the worst moderate hangover, but a bad headache, nausea, and the general feeling that death was near was usually all there was to it. Occasionally, there were other problems.

"We will keep an eye on her. Help us get her in there, and then you can have a seat, and we will call the Captain. The guard indicated a cell two or three doors down from the two the rest of the Outpost personnel were using. Ruggiero picked up his wife's arms, while Henderson picked up her feet. They carried her into the cell, while Ryan held his phaser on them, as regulations required. The two men laid her out on the floor, putting a small pillow under her head, and then her husband sat down on the bench behind her. Henderson backed out of the room and Ryan engaged the magnetic field to keep them inside. Moving to the comm unit on the wall, they activated it and called Acting Captain Scott.

" here."

"Captain, two members of the Outpost personnel wish to speak with you. They say they have some information about the abduction of the landing party. We've separated them from the rest of the brig population, because they were attacked by other members of the Outpost crew while asking us to call you."

"Aye. Escort them to Briefing Room 2, and then call Spock to meet us there."

The guard hesitated, thinking he knew how what he was about to have to say was going to be taken. Scott heard silence on the other end of the open connection, and said, "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

"Well, sir, one of the two crew members who asked for you is unconscious. She was hit with a stun blast when we stunned the rest of the group, and they are refusing to talk to anyone except the Captain."

"Have you reported it to sickbay?"

"No sir. Reporting as soon as we are finished."

"We are finished. When she wakes, escort them to Briefing Room 2 and call me. I will meet you there."

(0o0)

Doctor McCoy knelt beside the unconscious woman, working to get her to wake up. She was breathing and seemed stable, but she had been unconscious much longer than normal for a stun blast. Briefly he registered the pain in his knees from the hard steel floor of the brig. _I'm getting too old for this_. Based on her weight and height, she could only handle two cc's of cordrazine, at the most. He gave her one, and sat back for a moment to see what happened. Nothing. He injected her with another, and a moment later, her eyes fluttered open.

"Well, hello there. I am Doctor McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. You gave us quite a scare, Miss Ruggiero." He helped her sit up, and her husband came around and knelt on the other side of her. She clasped his hand, and looked at the doctor.

"What happened?"

"The guards tell me they had to stun you because you and your husband were being attacked by the other members of the Outpost crew. When you are recovered enough to walk, we will escort you to a briefing room, so you can tell the Captain what you know. He handed her two green pills and a glass of water. "These will help the headache and the nausea. Just sit there for a few minutes and let yourself recover." Leaving her in the capable hands of her husband, who clearly had done this before, he rose and moved over to the guards. "Why don't you call Mister Scott and Spock and tell them we are almost ready, and will meet them in five minutes."

"They didn't want Spock there."

"I may need his help, if there are further problems. Call him."

"Yes, sir."

(0o0)

Mister Spock was working in Science lab 13, preparing some equipment for their investigation of the Outpost. He was interrupted by the whistle of the comm link on the desk. Answering the hail, he said, "Spock here."

"Mister Spock, this is Ensign Garrovick from security. Mister Scott asked me to call you and requests you meet him and Doctor McCoy in Briefing Room 2 in ten minutes. Two of the Outpost personnel have some information regarding the abduction of the landing party, and he would like to have you there." That remark was greeted with dead silence for a long moment. Finally, he said, "We will postpone beam down of the landing party until this matter is resolved. Inform Mister Scott that I will be there, and inform the rest of the landing party to stand by for further instructions. They are to be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"Yes, sir."

Spock made his way to Briefing Room 2, where Commander Scott was waiting for him. He sat in his customary place, waiting silently with fingers steepled in front of him. A few minutes later, the doors whooshed open again to admit two security guards, a handsome young man with something of a baby face, and Doctor McCoy, supporting a small young woman who seemed to be unsteady on her feet. The young man caught sight of Spock seated at Scott's right and said, "Stay away from us, you damn Vulcan freak."

Scott's face turned scarlet with anger and embarrassment. He said, "Ye watch yer mouth er I'll court martial ye. As it is, ye can consider yerself oon report. Mister Spock is the first officer of this ship, and he holds the rank of Commander, which makes him yer superior officer. While ye are aboord the Enterprise, ye'll show your betters the respect they deserve. Es thot clear?"

The young man shrank backwards in the face of the big Scotsman's anger as though he had been slapped, and when he spoke, his voice was meek. "But Captain, he wants to kill us," the young man said, unable to help himself. McCoy touched the man's arm and practically dragged him to a seat. To the young man's surprise, Mister Scott burst out laughing.

"Mister Spock is from one of the most peaceful races in the galaxy. Why in space would you think he wanted to kill you?"

"He said so, down on the Outpost."

"Not precisely, Ensign." He glanced at Scott. "May I explain, Captain?"

"Of course, Mister Spock. Please do."

"I am a Vulcan, Ensign. I act on logic. On the Outpost, you were all presenting a united front, and we were not getting the answers we needed. I found it logical to remind your people that Vulcans have ways of getting the information they want, and that those ways are not always pleasant, and can sometimes even be fatal to other races, especially humans. I never said I planned to kill anyone."

McCoy added, "He won't harm you unless there is a logical reason to do so, such as there would be if you were threatening us or withholding information. Since you aren't, you have nothing to worry about." Brian Ruggiero didn't seem especially convinced, but he subsided and sat down next to his wife at the table. After a moment's pause, Scott said, "Tell us yer names, and what this is all aboot."

"I am Ensign Brian Ruggiero. This is my wife, Lieutenant Junior Grade Anna Ruggiero. I caught a glimpse of the ship that dropped your crew off on the Outpost, and my wife overheard part of a conversation that seemed to relate."

"What kind of ship?"

"I don't know. It was just a ship. I've never seen one like it before."

"Would you be able to identify this ship if you saw it again?

"I think so."

"Good, then we'll have Mister Spock show you the schematics of every ship known to the Federation, until you find the one you saw." Scott turned to the woman sitting next to her husband, and said, "You say you overheard a conversation about our people?"

"Not exactly about your people, and not a whole conversation, only snatches of it."

"All right. Do you know who was having this conversation, and with whom?"

"It was between Commander Orr and someone else. I am not sure who. Someone who wasn't part of the Outpost.

"What did they say to one another?"

"Well, they asked to speak to Commander Orr, and then when he answered they told him they had the cargo he had requested. He asked about the price, and they named some astronomical amount. He completed the wire transfer of credits while they were on the phone. I saw him working on it when I glanced over to see if the call was finished. I recorded the conversation because I knew it might be important, but when we were brought aboard, I was unable to bring it with me. It is back in our quarters on the Outpost."

"All right. We will look for it there. Is there any other information you wish to give us?"

"No."

"Doctor McCoy, does Lieutenant Ruggiero need sickbay?"

"Well, both need the physicals they would get as Starfleet personnel at any new posting, even if it is temporary. And I would like to do some other tests. That can wait, if you need them for some other purpose."

"No. Take them there now, and keep them there until you have finished all of the tests you deem necessary. Then, have the quartermaster assign them quarters on the ship." He looked at the young couple. "I would advise you to follow Doctor McCoy's orders, lest you end up in more trouble."

"Captain, can you tell me what we can expect to happen to us?"

"Well, ye'll hae to face the consequences for the way ye spake to a superior officer, but if ye behave yerselves, the report and requisite slap on the wrist will cover it, I think. After that, it'll be up ta Starfleet ta decide whether ye go back ta the Outpost or nae."

McCoy took Anna Ruggiero by the arm and guided her out the door, saying, "Come on. Let's get you both down to sickbay. We'll worry about the rest of it as it comes."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks to all those who are following and reading this story. Also, thank you to those who have taken the time to review. Reviews really make my day, so please keep them coming. I own nothing except original creations, and I make no profit off of any of this. Enjoy.**

Chapter 11

Brian Ruggiero waited somewhat impatiently in sickbay for news of his wife's health. When they arrived in sickbay, they were taken into separate rooms, presumably so they could be finished at the same time. Annie was being examined by the Head Nurse, a handsome blonde woman who seemed overly capable. He was currently being examined by the crusty old doctor they had met in the brig. While Brian was going through the motions of the physical, his thoughts turned to his wife. He couldn't help but worry about her, after the way she reacted to the phaser stun. This man, all of these people, seemed ultimately competent. Could they figure out what was going on? He was contemplating asking the CMO about that, when the chime on the desk rang to signal an incoming hail. Excusing himself, the man went to answer it, and came back a moment later. "I need to step into another room, and sign off on another examination. Please get dressed, and then walk out to the large waiting area, and wait for me there. I want to talk to you before I sign your release."

"Yes, sir."

McCoy stepped into the room to which his wife had been taken when they arrived. Ruggiero dressed quickly, hoping to be called in any minute. He found himself alone in the outer area of sickbay, designated as a waiting area, but doubling as a trauma unit when necessary for that purpose. He was amazed at how disciplined and well run every area of this ship, which he had encountered so far, was. Everyone was so friendly, too. That fact made him wish they had accepted a starship posting, even if it meant being separated. Walking by a large cylindrical structure and glancing inside, he noted that it was their decompression chamber. Along one side of that, there were several other windows lined up in a row. Curious, he paced over to one of them and glanced inside. A young man, no older than he was, lay as still as death on the bed. He wondered if this was the man left on the Outpost. Suppressing a shudder, he moved to the next window in the row, and saw, on the bed in this room, a man, a bit older than the one in the first room, and wasted in body, but possessing of a restless energy, though he was sleeping peacefully. In any other place or time, that energy would define this man, but there was an aimlessness about him now that was truly frightening. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice in his ear. Startled, he stiffened, and turned. A wide smile and deep blue eyes greeted him, in the countenance of the doctor.

"I didn't mean to startle you, son." He nodded toward the window. "Hard to watch, isn't it?" Ruggiero nodded. "Even harder when you know the man." McCoy regarded the young man before him for a moment, and then continued, "Jim's a very private man. He wouldn't want us watching him this way. Come on, I wanted to talk to you and your wife together for a few minutes." Ruggiero followed the doctor into his office, and took a seat next to his wife, in front of McCoy's desk.

McCoy looked at Anna. "I took longer with your exam than I did with your husband's because I wanted to know why you were unconscious for so long when you were stunned. That is not normal. Then I had to repair some internal injuries." Brian Ruggiero sensed the doctor was not telling them something.

"What aren't you saying, sir?"

McCoy ignored the question, and kept his eyes on Anna. Finally, he said, "Your scans show you are going to have a baby. How soon depends on how much of your internal injuries and the baby's injury I can get under control. I need to perform surgery to that end, but until then, I want you to stay in bed. I am afraid it will be touch and go for awhile yet."

"Thank you, Doctor." Anna was trying not to cry, and McCoy put his hand on Brian's shoulder. Quietly, he said, "You need to get some rest, and get your mind off of all of this for awhile. You'll be no good to her if you don't. We'll take good care of her."

"Yes, sir. What do you suggest?"

"Why don't you go see Mister Spock, and see if you can identify that ship you saw?"

"All right."

(0o0)

McCoy was on sentry duty. He fiddled with his tricorder under the pretense of doing paperwork, but he was really standing watch. Usually, the sounds and smells of sickbay were comforting to McCoy, as this was his realm—the one place where he had a measure of control over the outcome of the ship's missions, but tonight, he grew ever more annoyed by the incessant beeping of the heart monitor. He supposed he should be grateful for that sound, which ensured the man lying before him was alive, but all he really wanted to do was hit it, and keep hitting it until it stopped beeping. His nerves were brittle, frayed to the point of snapping and a fire burned in his eyes that started all the way down in the depths of his spirit.

It wasn't that he minded standing watch tonight, it was more that he was fired up that it was necessary, and when he chose to admit it to himself, he realized that it was that fire, properly channeled, which made this the finest ship in the fleet. Each of the senior staff manifested this fire somehow, and in McCoy, more often than not, it showed up as anger. He was angry that this man and this crew would go wherever Fleet bade them, with no thought for their own safety, or McCoy's sanity when he had to pick up the pieces. The anger was irrational, he knew, and it was also a cover, used by a good doctor, in difficult circumstances, to hide a deep and abiding care for his patients. More often than not, that care slipped through, and that was part of the magic, which made the anger tolerable. For it was the magic that helped him understand the anger. That magic was friendship, brotherhood, forged in the fires of far flung worlds, as well as right here at home. The magic was also partly the knowledge that life is sacred and must be preserved at all costs, lest some irreplaceable part of humanity is lost. The anger was born of fear, and the fear was born of love. Yes, McCoy would stand watch tonight, for all the times this man had stood watch for them, and against all the odds, brought them back alive.

He had been peacefully asleep for almost forty eight hours now, since Spock had touched his mind and calmed him. No matter how much he slept in this initial phase, McCoy sensed it wouldn't be enough to allow him to completely recover. McCoy fought the urge to move the Captain back to his quarters. He was stable, and McCoy knew he would prefer to wake up there. He also knew that any further treatment he needed was best done in the privacy of a home environment, in order to curb the rumors which were, even now, flying about the ship, and the well-meaning crew members stopping by to catch a glimpse of their Captain and reassure themselves that he was all right. On the other hand, they weren't sure what they were dealing with, nor in what state the Captain would be when he finally did wake, and McCoy resisted moving him if he might need the services of sickbay. Reaching out to straighten Kirk's blanket, he saw that the Captain's eyes were open. He felt a cold stone of worry drop into the pit of his stomach. Kirk was never awake without moving or making noise, and ready to continue life as usual. Swallowing the lump in his throat, McCoy spoke up.

"Jim?" For a moment, nothing happened, as though the man on the bed didn't know his own name, or who had spoken to him. Then, his eyes focused in on the doctor, and McCoy was surprised he wasn't burned by the intensity of that stare. The Captain opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Helping him sit up, McCoy tucked pillows behind and around him, and handed him a small cup of water. Kirk sipped the water, and then he tried again, and his voice was a whisper, broken and ragged. "ere?"

"You're in sickbay, Captain. Do you remember anything of what happened to you?" At those words, a strange look came over Captain Kirk's face. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead as he tried to remember. Finally, he shook his head and sagged back against his pillows. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow, but he got the word out.

"Spock?"

"He is heading up the investigation on the Outpost. He sat with you all last night, and now I am sitting with you today. He should be back soon." Actually, he had left orders for the doctor to call him when Kirk regained consciousness, but that would wait until McCoy had gleaned what information he was able from their Captain. Kirk nodded, and the sag that had been part of his countenance when he first returned to the ship was still present, and growing more pronounced. "Are you hungry?"

Kirk shook his head, as though the act of speaking was too much for him. McCoy studied the readings on the diagnostic panel above his bed. "There doesn't seem to be any permanent physical damage. Just lie there and rest a while. Regain some strength, and then we will see how you are doing a bit later." Kirk leaned against his pillows and closed his eyes, and a moment later, he was asleep again.

(0o0)

McCoy stepped into Lieutenant Johnson's room, mildly surprised to see Scotty there. The Engineer was worried. McCoy read the diagnostic panel above the young man's bed, and grimaced. For the past three days, since the Lieutenant was returned to the ship, he had not regained consciousness, and therefore, he was being fed intravenously. Still, he seemed to be losing ground, and McCoy didn't know why. It was as though he had lost the will to live. Spock had tried touching the surface of his mind, as he had the Captain's, but that just seemed to make matters worse. McCoy had tried everything in his vast arsenal, but this battle was slowly being lost, and McCoy had the sneaking suspicion that it was because he didn't know what he was up against. He straightened the young man's blanket, and moved the machine that filtered his blood (in the event that this was all spurred on because of some disease of the blood that they knew nothing of, and therefore couldn't diagnose). As he did so, the man half rose from the bed, with great effort, arms outstretched in front of him. For a brief moment, his eyes were overbright, but lucid.

"Doctor McCoy?" he asked, startled.

"Take it easy, Johnson. Can you tell us what happened to you?"

"Don't remember anything. Dreams maybe." It was an effort for him to get the words out, Scott could see that. "Blocks of color. A beautiful woman, singing as the colors spun around in my head. S-s-seducing. Making love. Over and over, day after day, for months. Not stopping for food or drink. Wanting her and not. Unable to resist her. Here, but not here. "His eyes grew so wide as to look like they were about to explode right out of his head, and every muscle in his body tensed for a moment, as though he was about to succumb to a seizure. Then, just as suddenly, his body went limp, and he sank back against the pillows, eyes open but no longer seeing. The readings on the diagnostic monitor slowly sank to nothing, and McCoy gently pulled the blanket over his head.

He looked at Scott, still staring at the man before them in shock, not consciously comprehending what just happened. Laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, as he would the Captain, he spoke quietly. "He's dead, Scotty."

"It isn't easy, is it? Watching someone die?"

"No, it isn't. I, for one, am glad it isn't. When it becomes easy, we become a little less human."

"Now I know how the Captain feels when he loses a member of the crew. I know how you must feel. I don't know how you two do it, over and over again. How can someone be so alive one minute, and so dead the next?"

"It happens that way, sometimes. Birth and death are simple, really. It is the space between that is complicated. Join me for a drink?"

Scott nodded, and McCoy led the way to his office. McCoy poured the drinks, and they drank in silence for a time. Finally, Scott asked, "Do you believe Lieutenant Johnson told us what really happened, or was he delusional?"

McCoy sighed. "I have done this for a long time, and one thing I've learned is that you can't trust what someone says in a state like that. You never know how much is real and how much is dream, delusion, as you call it. However, much of what Lieutenant Johnson related, Spock saw in his link with the Captain, so I am inclined to believe that most of it is true. Clearly, he wasn't there for months, as he stated, since he was only off the ship for a few days. Until I have a reason to disbelieve the rest of it, I will act under the assumption that it is true. That may be the only lead we have, presently, since the investigation on the Outpost has been delayed until Spock finishes gathering his background information with Ensign Ruggiero.

Scott looked as though he wanted to say something, but was hesitant. McCoy picked up on it immediately, and said, "What is it, Scott?"

"This whole situation, it reminds me of something. But it canna be."

"What, Scotty?"

"A creature from the stories of my homeland, straight from Celtic myth. The Dearg due. She's naught but a story for the fire on a winter's night."

McCoy was fascinated. Montgomery Scott was a storyteller of the finest sort, true to the rich traditions of his people. One of McCoy's favorite things about serving aboard ship was when Mister Scott was in the mood to tell a story. He would start out quietly, not caring whether he had an audience, but telling the story for the joy of telling it, and soon, everyone present in the recreation rooms were seated nearby, spellbound.

Scott continued. "Some say her name was McKenna, some Mhairi, but all agreed that she was a girl of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, and as fair and bonny a lass as one would wish to meet, both in looks and in spirit. In every way, she was a pleasant girl, and as she was of marrying age, she met a tinker or a smithy or some such fella as that, and they fell madly in love, each with the other. Mhairi's father was furious when he found out, and he forbade her to see her young man. In those days, people seldom married for love, and even fewer knew the kind of love that strikes like lightning and cuts to the soul. Marriage was about alliances, security, increased holdings, and perhaps even a higher station in life. In Mhairi's case, her father had promised her to a wealthy neighbor, nearly twice her age. Being a good daughter, she did as her father bade her, and married the neighbor, uniting the two clans. Her young man never knew what became of her, and eventually he married above his station and moved to a grand house in town.

It wasn't long before Mhairi learned firsthand that her new husband was abusive, and cold. He never touched her, except to beat her or to take her when he was of a mind to satisfy his own desires. When he did so, it was never passionate and he never spared a thought for her. Not knowing that her young man had married and moved away, she began to devise a plan to sneak away, to see him. Her new husband was also supremely jealous of her beauty, and kept her locked away in his estate, refusing to allow anyone else to see her, and thus to share her beauty. All of the light went out of her, and she began pining for the life she had known before, a life of love and passion, where she shared her spirit with others, as they shared theirs with her.

One evening, as darkness fell, she slipped out of the house while her husband was occupied with some small detail or other pertaining to the campaigns he engaged in, and she sought to hide in the forest. Her husband, unable to find her, pursued her immediately, and her hiding place was discovered sooner than she expected. She ran through the woods, panicked and frightened, knowing what her fate would be, should she be caught. Having never been allowed to leave the house before now, she was unfamiliar with her husband's lands, and he pursued her to the edge of a cliff, thinking he had caught her. Vowing revenge as he approached her, she threw herself from the cliff and hit hard on the ground below. She died of a broken neck. As her husband wished to continue the alliance with her family, he had her buried in his family plot, and played the part of grieving spouse. A fortnight later, as the story goes, he was seen out with another young neighbor, before her body even grew cold in her grave. In the weeks and months that followed, men of the town began to disappear without explanation, only to be found later, dead. Her young man took ill, and wandered the town, never eating and never satisfied, and the stories say that he pined away for her, until he died of a broken heart.

The locals of the town, terrified of her, built a cairn of rocks on top of her grave, in an attempt to keep her inside. It didn't work, and the stories say that she still seduces men until they waste away to nothing."

"Mister Scott, that was a great story. You don't think that's what we are looking at, do you?"

"Ach, I dinna ken. I have always thought it just a story, but we've seen stranger things out here."

"That we have, Scotty. How are you feeling?"

"Better. Tired. Lots to do tomorrow."

"Get some rest. It is late, and you've had a shock. Your body could use some down time."

"Aye. Keep me posted on the Captain. I'll be in me quarters."

"Will do, Scott."

McCoy saw Scotty out and then paced back over and sat down next to Kirk, thinking hard about the story Scott had shared with him, and wondering if there was any truth to it, and if so, how to go about finding out what it was the Captain was facing, how to catch the perpetrators, and what reason they might have for targeting this particular landing party. Sighing deeply, he pulled Kirk's blanket up over the Captain's shoulders. If Scott was right, and the—_what had he called it?—_Dearg due was responsible, how would they ever hope to combat something like that? Rubbing his eyes, McCoy tried to stifle a yawn, but part of it leaked out anyway, and it was then that he decided to go to bed.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

**A/N: My apologies for getting this chapter out so late. Thanks to all the people who are reading/following this story. A special thank you to those who take the time to review. Reviews really make my day, so please keep them coming. I own nothing except the original characters I've created, and make nothing off of it. I hope you enjoy. **

Ensign Ruggiero was seated in a briefing room, waiting for Mister Spock. Truth be told, he was a little nervous about what the Vulcan's reaction would be when they met again. He was embarrassed about his outburst, no matter how justified he thought it to be. That outburst represented the worst of the xenophobic bigotry he had been raised with, and which he had, until now, thought himself beyond. He knew he had some soul searching to do, and was lost in thoughts of self recrimination, when the doors to the briefing room whooshed aside and Spock strode into the room. He sat down in his customary spot for research in front of the computer.

"Computer!"

"Working," the computerized feminine voice answered back.

"Access schematics of all ships known to the Federation, both of Federation design and otherwise. Display at my command."

"Working. Schematics accessed. Awaiting command."

Spock looked at Ensign Ruggiero for the first time since entering the room, and said, "Ensign, if you will turn your attention to the small display screen on the table in front of you, you will see the ships' schematics as they appear on the screen. If you need to see a larger version, please tell me, and I will switch it to the view screen on the wall to your right."

"Commander—", he broke off, knowing that he wanted to apologize and that he should, but unsure how to say so. He stared at a space on the table beneath him.

"Yes, Ensign?" He met Spock's eyes, but he didn't find the malice or the anger he expected there. Instead, he found a hint of curiosity, rapidly hidden, and a touch of tolerant amusement, no doubt at the human's awkwardness.

"Sir, I want to apologize for what I said before. I was out of line. In all the years of my adult life, I have tried to rise above the ideologies of the planet on which I was raised, and I thought I had. Until tonight, I had never considered myself a bigot, but my statement earlier makes it clear to me that I still have a way to go in that respect. I have much to consider before I lay this incident to rest. Otherwise, I am not fit to remain in the service of a Federation that embraces such diversity."

"Enlightenment is the first step to wisdom, Ensign. I am gratified to be part of your journey. If you wish to continue this discussion, I must ask that we do so at a later time." Spock's eyes were inscrutable. "Now, I require your assistance in finding the origin of the ship you saw, therefore, I must ask you to lay earlier events aside, and give the task your full attention."

Two hours later, they had finished three quarters of the ships on file in the computer library, and they were no closer to finding the ship than they had been when they started. Ensign Ruggiero had been so sure that he would recognize the ship if he saw it again, but now, he just wasn't sure. He couldn't just quit.

"Next," he said, and heard the desperation in his own voice. Mister Spock flashed the next schematic on the screen, and then the next and the next, and each time, Ensign Brian Ruggiero thought that this one would be the one he recognized, the one that made him stop. Each time, it wasn't.

His thoughts wandered to his wife. What was happening to Anna? Were they, even now, operating on her and the baby? What if the damage was more extensive than they thought? What if the doctor and his staff couldn't save the baby? What would his old commander tell Starfleet about his performance? What would Captain Scott and his people say? Was there a future for him in Starfleet, anywhere?

"…the last one, Ensign." Mister Spock's voice pulled him out of his own head.

"I'm sorry, Mister Spock. I got lost—wait, that's it!" He stared at the view screen before him. The ship that he had seen came to life in his head as he matched the drawing with the image in his mind.

"Interesting," Spock said, still looking at the blueprint on the screen in front of him. He reached out and moved a switch on the desk in front of him. Before he could speak, however, his body stiffened as though he was gripped by some sort of seizure, and the palsied tremor in his hands came back full force. Spock sank to his knees on the floor.

"Bridge," said the voice on the other end of the connection, with a touch of confusion. Ensign Ruggiero watched in horror as the Vulcan crumbled.

"Bridge," the voice said again, with more insistence this time. Moving swiftly to Spock's side, the Ensign spoke into the receiver. "This is Ensign Brian Ruggiero. I am with Mister Spock in Briefing Room B. I think he needs a medic."

(0o0)

CMO McCoy was finishing up his surgery on Anna Ruggiero, with the assistance of Nurse Chapel. It had been a close call, but he thought they had managed to save the child. M'Benga had ensconced Mister Spock in his quarters, admonishing him to stay there, and Mister Scott was on the bridge. The hand-picked landing party, chosen by Mister Spock, was down on the Outpost, doing their level best to finish the investigation, under the leadership of Security Chief Giotto and Mister Sulu. In short, everyone was busy with their own affairs and those of the Enterprise. McCoy had just seated himself behind the desk in his office, where he would be finishing up some paperwork and then entering his notes on the surgery in Mrs Ruggiero's medical record and the ship's medical log. Right now, he needed a drink and the opportunity to prop his feet up for a few minutes. _Getting old is Hell, _he thought. He knew there was a young man out there wanting to know his wife's condition, a young man, who, thankfully, had not yet approached him about it.

He wanted a bourbon, but he wouldn't drink on duty, so he settled for some strong, black coffee, of the kind that Jim Kirk liked when he was on the bridge. It was the kind of coffee one could stand a fork in, as his old sainted grandmother used to say. Kirk called it high octane coffee, and generally drank it cup after cup when he was under stress. He had just propped his feet up, and leaned back in his office chair when a very specific alarm rang on his desktop computer. At the sound of the alarm, McCoy said bolt upright in his chair, and his feet hit the floor. _"Khest!" _he said aloud, choosing to curse in Klingonese because he couldn't find an English invective strong enough to satisfy himself. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he sprinted down the hall, to see the door to the Captain's cabin just closing. Not stopping to think, he punched in the medical override emergency code, and the door whooshed open. Racing inside, he stopped in the middle of the room and looked around him. The cabin was empty. Just to be sure, he walked into the head, and out again a moment later.

_Now, if I were the Captain, where would I be? _He knew that Kirk must be starving. He hadn't eaten anything in the five days since he returned, and had refused food whenever it was offered. McCoy had fed him intravenously once or twice, while he was unconscious, so there was no actual danger of starvation, but he had to be really hungry. McCoy made his way to the Officer's Mess next.

(0o0)

Captain Kirk, the once and future Captain of the Starship Enterprise, smiled the mischievous smile of a small boy as he made his way to the bridge, fully dressed for the occasion and immaculately groomed. As he walked, he soaked in the sounds and smells and sights of his ship, and thought about how good it would be to sit in the Captain's chair, his chair, once again after being away for so long. He remembered another time he had tried to sneak out of sickbay, when he and the doctor were both much younger. His smile partially faded. He hadn't been entirely successful then, but he had analyzed the results of that attempt, and thought he had solved all of the potential problems.

Stalking into the turbolift, he said, "_Bridge." _When the doors opened onto the bridge, he put on his best swagger, and stalked over to Mister Scott. _Almost there._

"Mister Scott, report!" he snapped. Automatically, the Acting Captain reacted out of habit and spent the next twenty minutes doing just that, before he remembered that he should be questioning whether the Captain was sufficiently recovered to resume his post.

"How are ye feelin', Captain?"

"I'm well, Mister Scott." In a lower voice, he said, "Why don't you go on down to Engineering and see how things are going, Scotty. I can take over here, and I need you where you belong."

"Doctair McCoy has cleared ye to resume working then, has he?"

"NO, HE MOST CERTAINLY HAS NOT!" a voice roared from behind them. The entire bridge crew winced. Risking the wrath of their CMO was not for the faint of heart. A red faced McCoy was standing in the open turbolift doors, glaring at Kirk, who managed to look at least a bit chastened. He continued, "If you don't get your tail back down to sickbay, Captain, so help me, I will drag you back there myself and suture you to your bed. GO!"

Kirk's first reaction was to say, "I'd like to see you try," but he decided against it, knowing McCoy might take that as a challenge under the circumstances, and that the doctor would have several senior officers and any number of security guards to back him up, if it came to that. He raised both hands, palms facing out, in a gesture of surrender.

"Sorry, Bones. I'll go quietly. I had to try." McCoy was not amused. Kirk stepped into the lift beside him. "Deck 5," McCoy said, and the lift began to descend.

Kirk gave him a sidelong glance. "How did you know I left sickbay?"

"I know you, Jim." McCoy smiled, and said no more.

"Ah. You alarmed the bio bed, didn't you?"

"Nope."

"No?" McCoy almost laughed at the look on the Captain's face. "Me? You alarmed me?"

"Well, no, not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Captain, that I will not tell you exactly how I knew you were out of sickbay because I might need to use it again sometime in the future. You can consider it a medical mystery. Don't ask me anymore, and I won't have to lie to you."

The turbolift stopped on Deck 5, and the two men made their way to sickbay. McCoy palmed the door to his inner office open and stopped dead in his tracks. Kirk almost bumped into him. Walking up beside the doctor, he suddenly understood the reason for the abrupt action. Sitting in McCoy's desk chair, accessing his computer files, was a handsome Andorian woman, whom the Captain had last seen over five years ago, when she came aboard the Enterprise on a top secret mission. Dar Thavalan was, to put it lightly, an enigma. She was the first female to achieve the rank of Commodore in Starfleet, and she currently held the title of Director of Medical Services out of the Starfleet Surgeon General's office, which meant she was over every Starfleet run hospital in the universe, floating or otherwise. She was an Andorian-Vulcan hybrid, and one of the finest doctors Kirk had ever known. She could be very strict, and a stickler for rules and regulations. Wherever she went, trouble seemed to follow, and yet Kirk would much rather have her as a friend than an enemy. He still wasn't sure he trusted her.

"Gentlemen."

"Commodore. How did you get in here without setting off the intruder alert?"

"It is all part of my mystique, Captain."

"What are you doing here, Dee?"

"I was on Vulcan, visiting the Lady Amanda and Ambassador Sarek, and looking for Spock. I have some personal business with him, and I understood that he was supposed to be at a scientific conference there, which he failed to attend. Then, a certain medical log entry came across my desk—a log entry regarding an incident with the Captain of this ship and an unknown race. The two together convinced me that I needed to come out and see for myself what is going on with Starfleet's flagship, and maybe even offer a helping hand."

"I guess Spock felt he had to take command, since I was off ship."

"No, Jim. On the contrary, he said he couldn't take command. Regulations state that in a crisis situation, in which the Captain of a ship leaves one of his senior officers in command, no one can relieve said officer of that command save the Captain himself, or the Chief Medical Officer."

"Poor Scotty." Then, "If Spock is not in command, and not at his conference, where is he?"

"In his quarters, Captain. I'm afraid he is quite ill." Turning to Doctor Thavalan, McCoy said, "Since you are here, Dee, I would love to consult with you on both cases. Stay there and look over the records and my notes, while I put the Captain to bed."

"Put him to bed in his quarters. We will call for him or visit him there when we need him." She looked at Kirk. "Your word that you will stay in your quarters and rest until we call for you? You are in for a great deal of testing in the next few days, and until we know what this is, we have to consider you a danger to the ship, and a danger which must be contained."

"I am not a danger to the ship."

"Your word, Captain?"  
"My word, Commodore."

"All right, then. Rest well, James Kirk."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Kirk had spent several restless hours in his quarters so far, and he had a feeling he would be spending a lot of time there before the two doctors satisfied themselves that he could be trusted in the Captain's chair again. He couldn't really blame them, and a part of him was glad they were concerned with keeping the ship safe. He longed to walk the ship, or go for a workout in the gym, but he had given his word to Commodore Thavalan that he would stay put. Dee was not a woman who would look kindly on him breaking his word, though he wasn't really inclined to do so anyway. He didn't think himself a danger to the ship, but prudence seemed a wise course of action in the face of too many questions—questions for which he was finding himself without any answers.

Finally, Kirk couldn't take it any longer. He touched the switch on his desktop communications console, but didn't turn it on. He didn't want to call sickbay. That would make it more official, and he wanted to keep this off the record as much as was possible. Looking at the chronometer on his desk, he saw that it was well into ship's night. Bones would have gone to bed hours ago. He could call Spock, but he couldn't be sure that Spock would agree to what he wanted to do, or that he would see the logic in such a thing. Besides, something inside him clenched when he thought of Spock, and he had no explanation for that. Hell, he couldn't be sure any one of them would agree to what he wanted to do. All he could do was try.

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he toggled the switch on his desk, and after a moment, a strong feminine voice answered. He hesitated.

"Captain, is that you?" Still he said nothing. After another moment, she spoke again. "Jim? Stay put. That's an order. I will come to you." The chime outside his door sounded a while later, and then the door whooshed aside to admit Dar. Before she could say anything, he spoke. "Have you come as Doctor Thavalan or Commodore Thavalan?"

"Would you settle for Dee, the concerned friend? Though I can't just stop being either of the others, as it suits me. We are all part of the same package. I trust you understand that."

"I do. I need a friend tonight, though."

"Then you shall have one." Opening her bag, she removed three small bottles and a flask. With her back turned to Kirk, she mixed the drinks, and then produced two small glasses from somewhere and poured one for each of them. Sliding Kirk's across the table, she said, "Now, drink up and tell me what's going on."

Sipping his drink, Kirk found the fruitiness of it quite pleasant. "I need a favor, and I need to keep it off the record. What is this?"he asked, indicating his drink.

"That, my friend, is my own concoction. I call it the Shipwreck. You will understand why later. It seemed appropriate for this occasion." Gazing intently at him as she sipped her own drink, she asked, "You do know that anything involving a Starship Captain will be exceedingly difficult to keep off record. Supposing for a moment that I CAN do what you ask, what purpose would it serve? The part of me that still has to answer to Commodore Thavalan must be sure that granting your request doesn't pose a threat to the Federation or a danger to anyone else. Not to mention that the part of me which answers to Doctor Thavalan is by no means sure it is in the best interests of her patient to grant your request.

"That's just it. I am a Starship Captain. I've been captured before, held hostage, even tortured and almost killed a number of times. Never, not even once, through all of that, have I ever doubted myself or my abilities. Until now. Now, I am compromised. Emotionally and physically. One of my crew is dead, two others are missing, and I am not…myself. Something happened to me while I was away, something I don't remember, and whether I like it or not, that makes me a liability." Captain Kirk stared at a spot on the opposite wall, and spoke as though he was forcing the words out.

"What would you have me do?"

"Help me find my answers. Keep it quiet until we know for sure what happened, and what can be done about it. Keep it out of my record until and unless there is a compelling reason not to do so. Be the friend to me that you once were to a young Communications officer you had never even met."

"What are you afraid of, Jim?"

"I am worried that if Starfleet finds out that we had this discussion, they will relieve me, and send me to a starbase for treatment. I would much rather be treated here, in the midst of friends, with doctors I know and trust. I am also worried that if they relieve me, I won't get my command back. Some of the old stigmas die hard." Dee gave him a hard look.

"Not in my medical division," she said. "I won't have it."

"I believe that, Dee, but your medical division is not the whole fleet. I am thinking more in terms of the admiralty. Can you assure me it won't happen?"

"No. I'm afraid I can't. All right, I will grant your request, for the moment. Be warned, if the tests I run reveal that you, personally, might be a danger to the Fleet or whatever this is must be known in order to keep others safe, I will not hide it for the sake of your vanity or your career, and the James Kirk I have come to know wouldn't want that."

Kirk shook his head. "Thank you, Dee."

"Don't thank me yet. You don't know what you have gotten yourself into. I am agreeing to help, but with two conditions. If I help, you will cooperate with any tests and treatments I decide are in your best interests."

"Fair enough. The other condition?"

"We let Doctor McCoy in on what's going on, and let him help." She saw the look on Kirk's face. "He's one of your best friends, and one of my oldest and dearest friends. Besides that, he treats you on a daily basis. Not including him in this would hurt him deeply. I understand why you might not want to do so, but as your CMO, he needs to know your medical history, and this is part of that history, even if it doesn't make it onto your record. That's the only deal I am willing to make."

Kirk hesitated for a moment, and then nodded and sat down behind his desk. That would be a conversation he wasn't looking forward to having.

"Good, Jim. I will fill him in. We'll both be by to see you later. Get some rest, Captain."

Dee Thavalan walked out of the Captain's quarters, and down the hall to see Spock. She touched the chime outside of his door, and when she didn't get an answer, she punched in the override code that would open his door. Spock was lying on his bunk. She pulled a chair up next to him, wondering if he was asleep, and as she sat down, he turned toward her.

"Commodore Thavalan. What brings you here?" he said, with a hint of surprise.

"I came to see you. If I recall, you have an anniversary coming up. When you didn't show up at your conference on Vulcan, I got worried that nature might have struck a bit early."

"How do you know anything about it?"

"When I was aboard ship before, I had cause to become acquainted with the medical logs and personnel records of everyone on the Enterprise. I did the math."

"I don't think the anniversary has come early. I think something else is going on, but I am at a loss to explain what it is."

"We will do some tests, and I will figure out what is going on. For now, you should rest. Is there anything you need?"

Spock shook his head, and sank back onto his bed. Dee put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, then turned and left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Doctor McCoy was seated across his desk from Dar Thavalan, growing more worried and more upset as she related what happened in the Captain's quarters. When she finished, he spoke a bit sadly, and said, "I don't understand why Captain Kirk called you and not me."

"You will, if you think about it" Dar said. "In the first place, the Captain is a very private man, and you have been his friend for a long time. There are some things that are just easier to talk to strangers or acquaintances about than to friends. In the second, he asked me to keep it out of his record. Perhaps, he did not wish to put you in that position. He knows my rank will make it easier for me to weather whatever storm comes from my decision to grant his request. In addition to all of that, he may not be thinking as clearly as is normal for Captain Kirk. After all, he has just suffered an assault, the details of which we don't know, and he is still emotionally compromised."

"Don't let him hear you say that."  
"He said it to me."

"HE did? Maybe this is worse than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"Under normal circumstances, you'll never hear Jim say that to anyone."

"Will you help me help him, then?"

McCoy sighed. "Of course I will."

(0o0)

Dee rang the bell outside the Captain's door, and when he didn't answer, she punched in the medical override. Jim Kirk was lying on his bunk, staring at the ceiling of his quarters. He stayed that way for a moment, and then his eyes found hers. She frowned as she looked at his readings on her tricorder.

"How long has it been since you have eaten, Jim?"

"I am not hungry."

"That didn't answer my question."

Kirk shrugged, and didn't answer, as though he had no concept of time. Moving to his desk, she called sickbay. When McCoy answered, she said, "Mac, please meet me in the Captain's quarters, and be prepared to place a feeding tube."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jim Kirk stared at her. "I don't need a feeding tube."

"At this point, you have two options, Captain. You can accompany Mac and me to the galley and eat, or we can feed you with a feeding tube. If you don't eat one way or the other soon, you are going to be in serious trouble. I want you to eat, and then I want to bring you back here, and hypnotize you. It is time to find out as much as we can about what happened, and determine what we can do about it."

To Dee's surprise, Captain Kirk shrank into himself a bit, and looked at her with a deer in the headlights expression. "Is there a problem, Captain?"

Before he could answer, the doors to his cabin slid aside, and Doctor McCoy strode inside. Seeing Bones, Kirk shook his head, and didn't answer. Dee turned to McCoy and said, "The Captain has agreed to join us for a meal in the ship's galley. Come, gentlemen. We have much work to do."

The galley was deserted when they arrived. Dee moved to the replicators and inserted the Captain's meal card. She came back a few moments later with a rather large Altairian steak and placed it in front of the Captain. She ordered herself some fine Andorian salmon, and McCoy ate a rather large salad, with soup and baked potato. Kirk cut his steak up, and ate about half of it, for no other reason than to delay the return to his quarters. It had no taste to him, and he took no joy in it. Kirk was a man who appreciated good food, and this steak, even replicated, was one of the finest the Federation had to offer. That he did not finish it, nor seem to enjoy it, told both doctors as much as they needed to know about Jim's condition.

When he was finished, Dee took his arm, and accompanied him back down the corridor to his quarters. Dee seated herself in Kirk's desk chair, and motioned Kirk to a seat across from her, on his bunk. McCoy seated himself beside his Captain.

"Well, Captain," she said, at length, "I am going to ask Doctor McCoy to do a complete physical exam on you, as well as some basic psychological tests you have had before. They will measure your Psi rating, among other things. Mainly, we want to see if anything has changed. After that, the things I would like to do are negotiable, but we must know what has happened to you in order to help you, and I suspect something is blocking that information in your mind. As I see it, we have three main options for diagnosis and treatment—hypnosis, Spock, or truth drug. Ordinarily, I would ask Spock to touch your mind, but since he is ill, I think hypnosis is where we should start.

Jim Kirk had a visceral reaction to the mention of Spock's name. Dee noticed, as did Leonard McCoy.

"My goodness. Spock is a very good friend of yours. What is it that could possibly cause a reaction like that to my mention of his name?"

"I don't know. I have felt something since I woke up, every time his name is mentioned. It is a feeling deep inside, as though things are about to go horribly wrong."

"Wrong how?" Bones asked.

"I wish I could answer that, Bones."

(0o0)

Ensign Brian Ruggiero paced the inside of his quarters aboard ship, watching his wife sleep. He was glad that she had been released from sickbay, and those thoughts brought him to Spock. He wished he could step down to sickbay to check on the Vulcan's condition, but while they hadn't specifically told him he was confined to quarters or posted guards at his door, somehow, they had made it clear that he was to stay put until their investigation on the Outpost was complete, in case he was needed.

"What are you thinking about, hon?"

"Anna! How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been on a three day binge. How's the baby?"

"Doctor McCoy told me he thought they were able to save the child. They've done all they can. We will just have to wait and see now."

"I hope everything is all right."

"It will be, you'll see."

At that moment, the door chime sounded, and Brian pushed the release. When the doors opened, two burly security guards stepped inside.

"Ensign Ruggiero, come with us, please."

"Where are we going?"

"The Captain needs more information about the ship you saw." The two security officers moved up on either side of the young ensign, effectively guiding him out the door and through the corridors of the great ship. Ensign Ruggiero expected to be meeting the Captain on the bridge, or in a briefing room, and so was rather surprised when they led him to the lower decks. They stopped in front of a very ordinary looking door and sounded the chime. A moment later, the door opened. A young man was seated at the desk, sifting through a stack of data tapes. He looked up when they came in, and Ruggiero failed to hide his surprise. This was not the Captain. This man had the rank of Lieutenant on his sleeve. He motioned Ruggiero to a chair, and signaled the security officers that they could leave.

"Ensign Ruggiero, I am Lieutenant Pavel Chekov, Assistant Security Chief. You were working with Mister Spock to identify the origins of the ship you saw on Outpost 3. As you may know, the ship automatically records everything that takes place in business rooms aboard ship, unless we specifically instruct the computer not to do so. That is to say, nothing is recorded in the living areas, such as recreation decks, living quarters, and galleys. Of course, just as we can instruct the computer not to record goings on in work areas, we can also instruct the computer to record goings on in living areas. We generally do this when someone wants a record of a special event, such as an awards ceremony, a wedding, or a funeral. Now, you identified the last ship Mister Spock showed you. Are you sure it was that ship which you saw?"

"Yes."

"All right. What was the origin of that ship?"

"According to the computer, the ship's origin was unknown to the Federation."

"Do you remember anything else about the ship?"

"No. Well, maybe, but I am not sure it has any significance. Someone in passing mentioned that they recognized the ship as one which housed a delegation of some kind from the Babel mission. I don't even know what that is, but I remember wondering about it when I heard it."

"Thank you. Do you remember who said that?"

"No I don't. My best guess is one of the medical staff, but I am not sure."

"Thank you for your help. If I need anything further from you, I will contact you. Unless and until that happens, you are free to move about the ship at will, so long as you observe posted restrictions."

"Thank you, sir."

(0o0)

Jim Kirk was contemplating sneaking out of sickbay…again. He was tired of all the tests. McCoy must have read his thoughts because he said, "Don't even think about it, Jim. Commodore Thavalan would throw you in the brig so fast you would think she beamed you there, and me along with you. We only have a couple of tests left to fulfill her initial orders, and then you can go back to your quarters, and rest there until we have the test results."

"I don't want to rest. I am tired of resting. I want to walk my ship, talk to my crew. They need their Captain's reassurances that everything will be back to normal soon."

"Turn over on your stomach," McCoy instructed him. Jim did as he was told, and then there was a bright flash of light, a flash of heat, and a short, intense burning sensation right at the level of his kidneys. He felt a hiss and a tingling as McCoy injected him with something. Whatever it was, it worked. The burning sensation stopped.

"I am sorry, Captain. As much as I agree that a walk would do you good, Dee wants to wait until after you have finished the psychiatric testing she wants to do before she allows you to talk to anyone outside of sickbay. That shouldn't be long. I am under strict orders to call her when we finish here, and she will come and escort you where you need to be for her testing. Now then, the last test the Commodore ordered for you is a lab test."

With those words, he caught Jim's arm in a fierce grasp, and pushed the sleeve past his elbow. Jim Kirk, once and future Captain of the starship Enterprise, watched with all the fascination of a young boy, as his lifeblood flowed into the vials that McCoy attached and replaced on the hypo.

(O0O)

Dee Thavalan had set up a makeshift office in an unused VIP suite adjoining her quarters. Jim Kirk was seated in a very comfortable reclining chair, horrified at what was about to take place, though his command presence would not allow him to show it. Dee knew what he was thinking.

"Jim, I suppose asking you to relax won't work. Would it help to remind you that you are among friends?"

"I know that, and I appreciate it. Still, I hate this."

"How can I make this better for you?"

"Hmmm. I suppose allowing me to go back to work and forgetting this ever happened is out of the question, isn't it?"

"You already know the answer to that question, Jim."

"Well then, the only way to make it better for me is to just go ahead and do it. Get it over with, so I can walk my ship again and talk to my crew."

"All right. That's what we will do, then. That chair has a secret, Captain. Two actually. The first secret is that it is voice controlled, and the second is that it is intuitive to what the person seated needs. It was developed by the Argelians, if that tells you anything, and it is a prototype. I happen to possess the only one currently in existence, under the auspices of testing it for them. Recline, level three."

Gradually, Jim found himself in a full reclining position, although he never felt the chair move. The longer he sat in the chair, the more comfortable it became. He shook his head. Dar Thavalan had all the gadgets and gizmos.

"A real life, female James Bond," he said, under his breath.

"What was that, Jim?"

"I was just thinking about the fact that you always have all the cool toys."

"Are you surprised, Captain?"

"Surprised? No. Somehow it fits your personality."

"Close your eyes and try to get comfortable, Jim. Picture the person who means the most to you in your mind. Focus on the details of their face—hair, eyes, nose, mouth, ears, color. See it all clearly in your mind, and hold onto the image. I am going to count backwards from ten to one, and when I reach one, you will be totally relaxed. You will remember everything that happens here tonight. Ten…nine…eight…seven….six…five…four…three…two…one. You are totally relaxed."

With that, Jim Kirk opened his eyes and said, "I'm sorry, Dee. This just isn't working."

"I wondered if that might happen. That's one reason I insisted on keeping McCoy informed. If you cannot talk to me, you may talk to him instead. The only other option is truth drug. I don't want to do that unless we have no other choice. You will not remember it, and it will be traumatic for both of us."

With those words, she toggled a switch on her desk, and spoke into the air when McCoy answered.

"Doctor, please meet me in the Captain's quarters."

"Yes, ma'am. On my way."

Mac reached Jim's quarters in time to hear the Commodore say, "I think a walk around the ship might do you some good, but I would like to limit your interactions with the crew until we finish our testing."

"I agree that we should do that. I just want to stretch my legs and reassure the crew. Maybe check on Spock."

"All right, Jim. We will accompany you."

The three senior officers set off on a walk around the ship. Kirk was happy to see the friendly faces in familiar corridors, and the hour he spent on the walk served to reassure him that all was well, just as it did his crew. When they finally reached the bridge, the first shift bridge crew was getting ready to go off duty for the day, and all of them were eager to show their support for their Captain and friend.

"Look Captain," Uhura said, quietly. "We've managed to capture some subspace chatter from the five day period in which Lieutenant Johnson was left on the Outpost. I've been working on the language, and I think I can translate some of it. That should give us a place to start on identifying these people."

"Good job, Miss Uhura. Care to tell me what that says?" He gestured to the screen, upon which were written words in a foreign language.

"It is a fragment of a conversation between the speaker and another, as yet unidentified person. Let me see. It says something about the new moon. It rises over the village." The last bit of what Uhura said was drowned out by what was happening in the Captain's brain. As she said the words 'new' and 'moon' and 'rises', those words burned themselves into Jim's brain, and it felt as though something exploded there. A swirling vortex of thoughts and colors and voices hit him like a ton of bricks, and though he showed nothing outwardly, Dee Thavalan felt him sag for a moment against her, and she knew something was wrong. Quietly, she said, "The Captain must rest. We will return to sickbay. All of you may visit later, after we determine what is wrong and how to handle it."

With that, she took a firm grip on the Captain's arm, knowing that he needed to walk out of there for the sake of the crew, and also knowing that he wouldn't completely be doing so under his own power.

She got him back to sickbay, and placed him in a private room, under guard until they could figure out what was happening.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. Thank you to all of those who continue to read and follow this story. A special thank you to those who have taken the time to review. I take writing seriously, and reviews really help me to hone my craft. Reviews also really make my day, so please keep them coming. I own nothing except original characters and situations, and make no profit off of this. Enjoy.**

**Chapter 15**

Bones McCoy knew how rumors flew in a space as contained as starship, even a fairly large one like the Enterprise. He wished, for Jim's sake, that he could squelch any rumors, though he knew it wouldn't do any good. People talked, and that was the way it had been since the beginning of time, and was probably the way it would be after he was long gone. He could and would squelch the ones he heard, as he knew the rest of the senior officers would also, and he hoped the respect that the crew at large held for their Captain would contain the worst of them. Still, he worried that Jim would hear some of them, and he knew the Captain would be embarrassed, though he would never let it show.

Whispers of witches and demons flew back and forth around the ship, though how anyone else besides the two of them had heard Scotty's story, when there was no one else in the room, was beyond him. It was a moot point now, anyway. It seemed the story was true, and something was aboard ship. McCoy sat with his friend and Captain, and brooded over his coffee. Jim was sleeping again, thanks to Dee's sedative, and McCoy knew he was doing the Captain no good sitting with him, but somehow, it seemed disloyal to leave.

(0o0)

Dee paced the confines of the VIP quarters she occupied, worried about the Captain, and what had happened to him. She wished she could talk to Spock about it. The Vulcan First Officer had an uncanny knack for figuring out what was going on in a particular situation, especially when it involved the Captain. She admitted to herself then that she was also worried about Spock. Ponn Farr, or what appeared to be Ponn Farr had set in fully now, and Outpost 3 was quite a good way away from Vulcan. There was something more than Ponn Farr affecting Spock, but she and Doctor McCoy had agreed that they would be able to treat the other problem more effectively when the Ponn Farr had been taken care of. They had few options for taking care of Spock, however. Getting him to Vulcan wasn't very likely, since they could not leave until their investigation was finished.

Thinking hard, she moved down the hall, not making a sound, and stopped in front of Spock's door. She pushed the medical override, and stepped inside. She was surprised to see that his bunk was empty. She caught motion from her peripheral vision and then something took her feet out from under her, and she landed hard on the ground, and had the wind knocked out of her. As she struggled to catch her breath, she assessed the situation as her military training had taught her to do, and flipped herself over, effectively pinning whatever tackled her beneath her. When her vision cleared and she could breath, she rolled over and sat up.

"Commander, what—?" The sentence cut off as the Vulcan First officer grabbed his superior officer by the throat and forced her against the wall. His eyes were burning, and even his touch was hot. "Leave. Get out of here," he rasped. "It isn't safe for you to be here. I don't know how long I can control—"

Her arms came up and broke his grasp with a power almost equal to his own. She held out two fingers to him, and asked, "Do you trust me?" Without a word, he met her two fingers with two of his own, and as his hand stroked hers, a hunger filled his eyes. "I am not going anywhere, Spock. You need me. And…I trust you."

With those words, Spock lost all control. The years of culture Spock had cultivated, the civilized veneer all Vulcans wore to mask their warrior past, was gone, and in its place was something—else. Something intense and feral. Something less, and at the same time, more than was there before. She knew his human half wouldn't allow him to completely succumb to the madness, and when he pounced on her, the touch of playfulness in it, in the midst of the madness, told her that he knew that, too.

She swallowed hard when he turned deadly serious, having not realized until this moment that he had a strength superior to her own, though not by much. They were fairly matched in height and weight, which took away any advantage of physics. This was bound to be an interesting scientific experiment.

Two hours later, Dee Thavalan awoke to find herself in her own quarters. She felt as though she had been hit by a high intensity phaser blast that was one hundred times more powerful than any she had known before. Her lips were gummy and her mouth tasted terrible. She hurt all over, as though she had been subjected to a heavy stimulation for a prolonged period of time. She rummaged in a drawer for her medical scanner, and when she found it, turned it on herself. Looking at the readings on the Feinberger, she took care not to hurt herself standing, then she found the stimulant in her ready pack, and injected herself with it. She sank back down on her bunk, where she sat with her head in her hands, until the stimulant kicked in and made her feel some better. Then she readied herself, and carefully made her way to sickbay to check on Jim.

(0o0)

McCoy was seated at the desk in the main treatment area of sickbay, catching up on inputting some patient files into the computer, so he wouldn't catch flack for his propensity for paper files. He looked up as the sickbay doors whooshed aside, and Dee walked somewhat unsteadily into the room. Taking in the situation at a glance, he opened the knee drawer of his desk, withdrew the scanner he kept there, and motioned her to a diagnostic bed. She refused, so he scanned her where she stood, and looking at her readings, said, "Dear God, Dee. What happened?"

She held up a hand to stop the rant she could see coming. "I am fine, Mac. Suffice it to say that I agreed to be party to a most interesting scientific experiment. That's all I am at liberty to say at the moment."

"This involves Spock, doesn't it? Why that green blooded, pointy eared, hobgoblin. I'll have his h—"

"DOCTOR," she said, sharply, interrupting him in mid sentence. "Need I remind you that I have not mentioned with whom, if anyone, I engaged in the experiment. I assure you, my participation was not coerced or forced in any way. It was completely voluntary."

"You can't tell me you did THAT to your own eye, nor can you explain, I suppose, why this ship's First Officer has an almost identical injury to the opposite eye."

"I am not at liberty to say."

"Of course not. And I suppose you had nothing to do with the stimulant in your system either?"

"That was totally, one hundred percent ME. I made the decision when I saw my readings before I came in here."

McCoy looked confused. "What are you doing here, then?"

"I came to check on Jim. How is he?"  
"Still sleeping. You don't iook up to checking on anyone in the condition you are in. Since you are here, won't you rest, and allow me to fix that eye with my protoplaser?"

"Maybe later. No time now. Right now I think I will keep it as a reminder of what friendship truly means. I'll be in Jim's room if you have need of me." With that, she swept out the door, not allowing herself to limp until she got outside.

She limped into Jim's private room, to find Spock standing next to his bed. The tips of his ears flushed emerald green when he saw her, and he said, "Commodore, I surrender myself to your authority." He held himself rigid. She locked the door behind her, and stood with her hands behind her back across from him, on the other side of the Captain's bed.

"On what charges, Commander?"

"Assault against a superior officer, rape, mental assault, and –"

"Belay that, Commander."

"Ma'am?"

"Mister Spock, I want your military analysis of this situation. You are a good judge of character. I am half Vulcan, and therefore know more than I care to about the tribulations of Pon Farr. Now, why do you suppose that I, as an unbonded half Vulcan female, chose to go to your room myself tonight, instead of sending Doctor McCoy or another member of the medical staff?"

Spock blushed to the roots of his hair, and then finally said, "You set me up?"

"No, Mister Spock. When I was aboard ship before, I had cause to read your medical record, and I read the accounts of what happened during your last Pon Farr. The supposition was put forth that the fighting is what eliminated the madness. I actually went in there to fight you until the madness left you." She smiled. "I think the solution we chose turned out to be the better one, though."

"How can you stand there smiling like that, when I took advantage of you?"

"You took no more than I offered you freely. Consider it a scientific experiment. I satisfied my curiosity, and you got what you needed. I would say that's an equitable trade."

"Your reputation—"

"—is intact, Spock. I was the logical choice, and so, I did my duty. If you can't respect that, that's not my problem."

"Explain."

"Specify"

"How were you the logical choice?"

"If someone had to fight you to make the madness leave you, I was the one most matched to you in strength, and also in skill and training. If it turned out that it wasn't the fighting, as a Vulcan female, I had more resources at my disposal to treat you than most aboard ship would, and I am also a doctor, so I would consider it a medical duty, just as I would treatment for any other patient. Any way you look at it, Spock, I was the best choice."

"Our friendship—"

"Will be unaffected, if you let it be so, Mister Spock. I will see you no differently."

"I have no words for this, Dee."

"Words should not be your weapon of choice now, anyway. Search your memories. What did you feel when you touched me? Did you feel that I was repelled by you?"

"A little bit, at first."

"That was fear, not repulsion."

"Fear? Of me?"

"A little, but more fear of the situation. I have only been through Pon Farr once before, and it was not a pleasant experience for me, because my bonding was a bad one. Silon was a bad Vulcan, and so the whole process was tainted."

"It is seldom a pleasant experience for anyone." Dee did not know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked down at Jim.

"How is he, Doctor Thavalan?"

"Right now, I don't know how to answer that. We should know more when he wakes up. I hate to ask this, because I know firsthand what it is I am asking of you, but I need your help. Will you touch his mind and see what you can find out?"

"When he wakes up, with his permission, I will."


End file.
